


The Binds of Blood and Time

by lol-phan-af (lol_phan_af)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Bloodlust, Duelling, F/M, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Immortality, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Other, Recovery, Resurrection, Reunions, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Witches, kind of, nothing is graphic kind of maybe??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lol_phan_af/pseuds/lol-phan-af
Summary: He woke up in the dark of night, Angelica still chanting. An oil lamp lay broken on the table next to him, glass spilling onto the floor, but she didn't notice. Wind blew in like a cyclone, whipping papers and furniture around, her hair covering her face. Alexander could see her eyes, all white as she held her hands out in front of her with blood dripping from her nose."Angelica?" Alexander asked, but she didn't listen. She screamed over him, Alexander's bones snapping and cracking like she was bending them herself. New teeth burst out from his gums before he passed out again."Wake up," Angelica snapped, tapping his cheek. "We have to go."* vampire!alexander meeting people he lost in his first life in his second life





	1. bloody hands cleaned by circumstance

Alexander watched Eliza, still asleep in their bed, her chest rising and falling in even patterns. She looked calm, unaware. Her hair fell loose across her shoulders, hands folded on her stomach as she dreamt of happier things, of stunning views and places she wished to visit someday. She was beautiful like this, when all traces of worrying during the day disappeared, and she was allowed to simply be.   
  
The door creaked as he shut it, leaving their bedroom and shuffling down floorboards that whines with every step he took. He moved quick, afraid of opening doors and the children behind them, of Eliza asking where he is going before sunrise, the worry in her voice that he was repeating old habits she thought they'd forgotten.   
  
"I'm not repeating anything," Alex muttered to himself as he unlocked the door, "only finishing something I started a long time ago."   
  
The morning seemed to drown in the growing anxieties of the duel, of everybody's frantic energy buzzing its way through his body and into his bloodstream, settling in his chest as his heart raced against time. Alexander told himself he was ready for this, convinced himself he was saving a legacy, leaving a standing rivalry with Burr to rest and freeing them to live lives that were not so plagued by one another. He'd always been a good liar.   
  
The calm water of the river was cold enough to freeze them in the warmer summer morning, the breeze carrying a chill across their skin, giving them goosebumps and blowing into their bones. Pendleton said something, small talk most likely, but Alex didn't answer, couldn't answer.   
  
Instead, Alexander focused on the boat, the uneven edge of it, smooth as he ran his fingers across the grain. He followed the conversation barely, listened to the water on the sides of the boat, the soft noise it made as they rocked, the paddles cutting through and pushing them to the other side. In different circumstances, it would've been a calming trip, sailing across the river with two kinder friends, but now all he felt was fear, working its way inside him like a plague, like a bullet.   
  
Burr is the first thing Alex can see when they reach Weehawken, the ground solid underneath his feet. He looked calm, talking to the crowd gathered around him with smooth, easy words that came out of his mouth like Scripture. Nothing he said could be wrong, he was infallible. He shrugged, smirked, and laughed like there was no weight on his conscience, like this was a casual meeting instead of a matter of life and death.   
  
The crowd stopped the closer Alexander got, poking at Burr's arms and pointing, like he was an attraction at a circus. Burr's relaxed exterior cracked for a moment, just barely, but in that Alex saw a child. He saw a twenty year old so afraid of losing everything he is willing to hand it over willingly. He saw himself, the same panic, the same fear, but neither of them called it off.   
  
"Hamilton," Burr whispered as he came up to Alexander, voice shaking. He had his pistol in one hand and a portrait of his wife in the other, which he tucked into his coat pocket before any comment could be made. Alexander spared a thought that, if he shot Burr through the heart, it would go through the portrait, and he wasn't sure if he could kill something so precious as a widower's wife.   
  
He swallowed, stopped thinking altogether. "Burr."   
  
They both know they're going to regret this, they leave little question of it in their actions. They didn't look at each other. The pride in wanting to be brave and the humility in wanting to live fueled them, connected and bound them, and neither wanted to leave room to think of death, of abandoning their children, their families. They do not imagine reuniting with the people they lost in fear that they might begin to chase it, a dream not so terrible unless contrasted with all they must leave behind.   
  
"How did we get here?" Burr asked, bittersweet. A wry laugh forced its way out of his mouth and echoing for miles, the onlookers of their conversation gazing at them in almost pity, most with rapt fascination. "In all our years, how did we come to this?"   
  
"You sent me a letter, _Aaron_ , challenging me to this. Do not ask questions to which you don't want to know the answer."   
  
Burr sighed and nodded, didn't entertain him further as he turned. Shaking, Alexander stood behind him, could hear his own heartbeat in his ears like a drum, a steady rhythm booming inside of him, stealing his breath from where he may never get it back again. This was horror, panic unfiltered, igniting his nerves like a fuse. How long would it be before he went off?   
  
_Ten_ _  
_ _  
_ _Nine_ _  
_ _  
_ _Eight_   
  
Eliza was still asleep at home, and he would see her later today, when this was over and he could breathe again. He would come home and apologize for having to go out so early, and she would smile and say something caring to him that would make him feel guilty for almost leaving her. Their children would wake and join them, bickering and arguing like they always were and he would _be there._ He would.   
  
_Seven_ _  
_ _  
_ _Six_ _  
_ _  
_ _Five_   
  
Alexander would have to shoot Burr. Dying was not an option, calling this off and crumpling in front of a crowd was not an option. The only choice he could make was to shoot or get shot, or to shoot _and_ get shot. He couldn't do both and he couldn't do neither. The gun clicked in his hand before he thought to do it, his finger already on the trigger and the shot already piercing in his ears.   
  
_Four_ _  
_ _  
_ _Three_ _  
_ _  
_ _Two_ _  
_ _  
_ He thought of Eliza again, and his children and Angelica and the people he loved and lost and lived for, the people he will eventually die for but not _now_ . Not today. He imagined their faces when he told them, the anger that he would risk something like that and the gratitude that he wasn't killed, the pulling into arms and Eliza kissing his forehead like she always did. It would be glorious, coming home, his heart still racing like from a battle he'd won.   
  
His hand pressed the trigger, not enough to pull it, and he thought of Theodosia Burr. Her face as Van Ness told her her father died just this morning, that they made every conscious effort but it wasn't enough. Her listening to someone she barely knew breaking the news that she was now an orphan, that she had nobody left, that she was alone to pick up the pieces she never expected to lose, pieces she _already gave up_ . The heart shattering pain as she collapsed in front of Van Ness, who _must_ be joking. Him assuring her, slower like it would ease her pain, that he saw it, and that he's sorry. She would yell and cry, enough to make a heart stop, enough to make the _world_ stop, and nothing would be able to soothe her.   
  
He couldn't wish that pain on somebody else. He wouldn't.   
  
_One._ _  
_ _  
_ _Fire!_ _  
_ _  
_ Alexander's hand froze as he spun to face Burr, and for a moment he didn't realize what happened. Only after his body split open did he hear the gunfire, as a bullet forced its way into his body and knocked him on his back, breathless and covering the wound with his hand, warmth covering his palm. He grazed the gap where flesh should be, but wasn't, and he could taste blood in the back of his mouth.   
  
It was still morning. The sky was soft pink, blue clouds and the yellow sun bleeding together like an oil painting.   
  
He thought of his mother first, and her smile as she looked down at him, bright eyes and long hair, and joining her after years without her didn't seem so bad. John appeared, eyes bright green like the grass tickling his cheeks, and the way they loved as easy as breathing, a task that increased in difficulty the longer he lie there. Washington came, and then his brother, and then Philip and Alexander closed his eyes. He wouldn't mind this, really.   
  
Then his body detonated, exploded in pain and he _screamed_ as loud as he could. His mother disappeared and everyone else followed, tears streamed down his face as they lifted him back to the boat. Burr shook like a leaf, dropped to the ground as Alex's hand fell beside him, bright red dripping into the grass.   
  
Nobody spoke, stunned, until Hosack mumbled, "Shit," and Alex's back hit solid wood.   
  
The sky was blue and yellow as Hosack dug into his side, hands steady as Alexander writhed around on the boat. Both him and Pendleton were telling him to stay still, struggling to move the boat back to shore without tipping. His skin was covered in sweat and there was a bullet where his stomach should be. The world seemed far away, false, like he would reach out to touch it and it would all fall away.   
  
"You're going to be fine, Hamilton," Hosack spit, but he didn't seem sure.   
  
Alex coughed up blood to argue his point.   
  
He woke up in a bed, not his own, and someone was still picking at the bullet. Eliza sat at his side, gripping his hand in hers and whispering under her breath, pleading to anyone to get him through this. His heart raced when he noticed she was here, her eyes snapping open when he kissed the palm of her hand. Tears fell down her cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to console her.   
  
"What were you thinking?" She asked, trembling. She was still in her nightdress, her hair was half tied up with a fraying piece of ribbon. Her hands crushed Alexander's in their grip.   
  
He held back the roar of pain he wanted to let out as someone dug deeper into his side, so much so that he felt it in his back, the burning of the metal, both settled in his body and working its way through it. He spoke through gritted teeth the only words he could make out:   
  
"I wasn't."   
  
He did live to see the next morning, but not much of it.   
  
Alexander died on a Thursday, and he shut his eyes as he sensed it coming, breathing out a goodbye to Eliza before he stopped breathing at all. Eliza sobbed and kissed his forehead, a group of family members close to them ushering her out, everyone following except Angelica, who stood staring at him with wide eyes, unblinking.   
  
He was still alive when he heard her quiet incantation, and language Alexander never heard of and could not translate. He listened, not understanding, as she finished one hex and began another, until his body caught fire from the inside out, flames kindling in his lungs, Angelica's voice vibrating in his bones, and his mind went blank.   
  
This was not what death, but the feeling of being reborn.


	2. a widow's wasted sorrow and a witch's wasted power

He woke up in the dark of night, Angelica still chanting. An oil lamp lay broken on the table next to him, glass spilling onto the floor, but she didn't notice. Wind blew in like a cyclone, whipping papers and furniture around, her hair covering her face. Alexander could see her eyes, all white as she held her hands out in front of her with blood dripping from her nose.  
  
"Angelica?" Alexander asked, but she didn't listen. She screamed over him, Alexander's bones snapping and cracking like she was bending them herself. New teeth burst out from his gums before he passed out again.  
  
"Wake up," Angelica snapped, tapping his cheek. "We have to go."  
  
The whole world was out of focus and dizzy, everything humming as though it were alive. Angelica's voice felt shrill in his ears despite her quiet tone, the stars shining like the sun multiplied by thousands. He felt the way his skin touched the insides of his clothes, tasted the blood in his dry mouth and the extra teeth he didn't have before, poking through his gums and aching like a teething child. He heard Angelica's racing heart and the abnormal silence of his own, the voices of people in a room down the hall clear as day, oblivious.  
  
"What's going on? What happened?" His voice rung in his own ears, blaring in his head.  
  
"You died, Alexander. I thought you, I thought I could save you, but I wasn't strong enough. You ended up somewhere in between alive and dead."  
  
"Somewhere in between? That's not possible, I'm either one or the other."  
  
She went around the room, fixing furniture that fell over and that ended up on the other side of the room, picking up papers and setting them back on tables. "You're closer to dead."  
  
Angelica set a book on the dresser, and Alexander noticed, for the first time, an _A_ in dark ink on his arm and the absence of a bullet hole in his abdomen.  
  
"You can feel it, can't you?"  
  
"Feel what?"  
  
" _Everything_ . The thrumming of the world in your veins, the feeling of the air on your skin. Can't you feel that? Overwhelming you from the inside out?"  
  
Alex groaned. "It burns."  
  
"Yeah, bringing people back from the dead doesn't always work," she mumbled, and Alex choked, _heard_ his muscles constrict.  
  
" _Doesn't always_ ? How many times have you done this?" He sat up in the bed, followed Angelica as she guided him into his cloak.  
  
She looked down at the floor. "Just once, and it worked then. It worked so I thought I could do it again, but it's something you have to practice and it's something I _didn't_ practice since the first time I tried. I know what I did to you, and I'm sorry, but I can't take it back. We have to go."  
  
They snuck out through a back door, shutting it behind them silently, though it felt earth shattering to Alex. A woman inside the house commented on the noise, before another woman assured about the wind, and the subject was dropped. He shuddered and sighed, held his hand over his chest and prayed for his heart to start beating again, if only to reassure him that he was as petrified as he felt. He didn't finish his plea, though, as Angelica grabbed him by the cuff of his sleeve and they continued their escape.  
  
They traveled for hours, so far that he forgot where they were, couldn't tell where they were going. The land was unfamiliar to him, as they made their way out of the city and north toward the country. The trees passing at the speed they did him made him sick, he pressed his forehead into Angelica's shoulder, who didn't move in response.  
  
"Where is Eliza?" He shook, running his tongue over the protrusions in his mouth, swallowing. God, he was so _thirsty_ . He listened to the fast beat of Angelica's heart.  
  
"Eliza's at the house, still. She can never know about this, what I turned you into. You can never go back to her, or else both of you will die, and I don't mean that as just a threat." The _A_ on his arm burned turned darker on his arm, binding him to her words. He nodded and it stopped, tears falling from his eyes, making a promise he didn't want to keep, but now had to submit.  
  
"We're here," Angelica said. The sun stung as it burned on his skin, half risen on the horizon, brighter than he'd ever seen it.  
  
He could feel the mist settling on the grass as night approached morning again, wetting the bottoms of his shoes and soaking his socks as he stumbled behind Angelica pulling him inside her house. He'd never been here before, and if it were different he might've paused to compliment her on the beauty of the exterior. The summer air was damp as it clung to his skin, cooling the singing of his blood as he made his way up the entry, his hair standing on end as the humidity got to it.  
  
"Stay here," Angelica told him as she dragged him down a flight of stairs to her basement. "I'll go back and take care of everything, until then you cannot be seen or heard by _anyone_ . I mean that. _Stay here_ ," she repeated.  
  
The smell of dust and cement filled his senses, filling his mind and catching him off guard. He tripped on the ground and fell to his knees coughing as it filled his lungs. Angelica didn't speak, just watched, and then shut the door behind him and rushed up the stairs, leaving him alone with his thoughts.  
  
The night he met Angelica, she amazed him with how she spoke, with a mystery in her eyes and a secret held between her teeth that you had to work to discover. He found comfort in her company, the way conversation bounced back and forth between them in a way that was different from how talking to Eliza was, but still as enjoyable. He loved Angelica like a sister, which made her doing this to him hurt almost more than the air flowing in his lungs did.  
  
The walls were made of smooth stone, one small square cut out at ground level to serve as a window. It wasn't big enough for Alex to climb through, not that he could. The sun rose in the gap of the wall, searing his skin, roasting it until it smoked. He howled, backed up into a corner until his back hit a patch of canvas.  
  
"What did she do to me?" He asked, chest heaving. He turned, peeling the canvas off of the wall where it was stuck with a crooked screw, revealing tally marks carved into the wall, jagged and frantic. Someone else was here before him, but there was no hint of who. Over four hundred marks that repeat in perfect symmetry before they stop, the last one with three horizontal lines carved underneath, a celebration.  
  
He put the canvas back up, fixing the nail back in the wall so it stayed. He got up and went to the door, tried to see down the hall but the angle only allowed him to stare at brick and mortar, the red stone he might have to get used to depending on how long he had to he hide.  
  
The day passed by and again it was night, Alex counted the hours. In that time, he'd tried to sleep, and failed, tried to escape, but was too weak to do so. The deep yearning pitting in the bottom of his stomach consumed him, the longer he went without appeasing it, the weaker he got. He could barely stand by nightfall, the world looked off kilter, swayed as he moved. Angelica wasn't back yet, the house empty as she took her whole family back to his home to mourn him.  
  
He crawled, hands on dirt and gravel, dust collecting on his palms, to the corner of the room. He ripped the canvas off the wall, picking the nail from in between the two stones, and plunging it into his own heart.  
  
By the time he woke up it was sunrise again, and he could barely move. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he was so _thirsty_ he couldn't stand it. He itched with it, his head buzzed like a wasps nest in his skull, sand replacing his insides and vibrating. He held the nail between two fingers and eased it out, used it to carve two bloody tally marks into the wall opposite of the first ones.  
  
Two days. He'd been there for two days.  
  
Angelica came back on the fourth day, holding four small animals by their tails in her hand. She tossed them in the cell where Alex sat propped up against the tally wall.  
  
"Drink them," she said, "it'll help."  
  
"What?" He coughed, hollow, breath shallow. If he didn't have a heartbeat, why did he have to breathe?  
  
"You do have a heartbeat," Angelica told him. "You just can't hear it."  
  
He moved toward her. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me like this?"  
  
" _Because_ , Alexander, I did this! I made you this monster and I will not let you out into the world like I did with-" She stopped, picked up the animals from the ground and thrust them into Alexander's hands. "Drink them," she demanded, and he nodded, not sure what else he could do.  
  
He brought the small thing up to his mouth. Its eyes were round and black and innocent and Alexander didn't want to do this. He wanted something else, something _better_ , and he cowered as Angelica bore her eyes into him, waiting.  
  
She sighed. "If you don't do this, I will leave you down here without anything to help you. I am giving you a way to ease your pain, even though you don't deserve one."  
  
"Thank you, then," he mumbled. He sunk his fangs into the small creature, tears pricking his eyes.  
  
Angelica didn't look away from him as he drained it. Its blood tasted like water and iron, but it made his world come into focus after what felt like years, and he drank from it until there was nothing left, his mouth slicked red. Angelica didn't move, didn't take her eyes off of him until the voices of children filled the house above him, when she turned on her heel and rushed out, slamming the door behind her.  
  
He drained the other two animals by the time night fell, not yet aware of patterns, not yet knowing the way Angelica only came by sporadically. She visited twice a week, on different days, and threw in animals or birds, laughed when Alex flinched as the carcasses hit him. She seemed to enjoy this, torturing him, like it satisfied an anger, a hunger, she hadn't fully packed up yet.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, as he did every time she showed up. She rolled her eyes and threw a squirrel in, leaving to go tend to her family.  
  
Eventually, he learned to live by the tallies. One more mark pressed into the stone is one more day closer to another chance at feeding, to escaping, to death. One more day, one more minute, one more _second_ he spent alive meant something, it had to. _It had to._  
  
Eliza visited Angelica on day twenty-five. She wasn't even in the house before Alex could _smell_ her. He could almost taste her blood on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to _drain her_ . Wanted to feel the sugar sweet  of human blood, of the woman he loved and did even as he lay rotting, breathing even if she didn't know. His body hummed as he thought about it, and as soon as he imagined it, the mark on his arm burned, dug into his skin like it would melt.  
  
_You can never go back to her, or else both of you will die_ .  
  
He drank feasant that morning, probably to stave him while his wife was here, but reasons pushed aside he was strong enough to stand, which meant he could walk. He pressed his face against the barred slit in the door and he screamed, heard Angelica pausing in the happy greetings to her sister. He could feel her false smile as she continued, then excused herself. His heart dropped through the ground as her footsteps got closer and her eyes appeared through the slit in the door.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" She asked, calm, not coming into his cell.  
  
"Eliza is upstairs. I can sense her."  
  
She curled her fingers through the door, Alex slamming against the wood. "I can hear your thoughts, Alexander, you are _bound to me_ . I know every filthy thing you're thinking, and this is your _one_ warning to stay away from her. You remember the spell I put on you?"  
  
Alex nodded. "If I ever go back to Eliza, both of us die."  
  
"Good. Remember that, because I do mean it." Alexander's mark burned as she spoke, "Eliza's blood is now toxic to you, drinking it is the most disgusting thing you could ever do, the mere thought _repulses you_ . Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, of course," he nodded again, but didn't believe to what he was agreeing. Angelica's dark brown eyes turned gold and Eliza's blood still coursed through her veins like a beat Alexander wanted to dance to all night long.  
  
Angelica smiled, teeth gleaming. "Perfect."  
  
She let him go and then unlocked the door, stepping in silently. Without speaking, she grabbed either side of his head, eyes softening.  
  
"You already hurt my sister enough when she was alive, I will not allow you to hurt her when you are dead."  
  
Then, still with kind eyes and a smile sharp enough to kill, she snapped his neck and left him lying on the cold hard floor of his prison.  
  
Day twenty-six passed and Angelica didn't stop to feed him, which he could expect considering the day prior.  Day thirty, forty, fifty after that. Day seventy-five and Angelica throws a hummingbird in through the slit, still alive, and then snapped his neck again the next morning when she found it flying outside in her garden, as happy as can be. Alexander learned to get used to it, found comfort in the rest of temporary death, the only thing that consoled his eternal life.  
  
On day eighty-three Alexander watched the sunrise come in through the window, and sighed as he stood naked in front of the burning rays of it. Everything that hurt could kill you one way or another, Alexander figured, and eighty-three tally marks were too many on such a nice stone wall. He had to leave, one way or another, he had to get out of there.  
  
The sun seared his skin, made it blister and dry, sizzling like meat on an open fire. It was the worst pain he ever felt, his body screaming for him to stop, clenching his teeth until he heard them break. Tears poured down his face and he thought of Eliza, and how much he loved her, and Angelica appeared in the door like she _knew_ .  
  
"What are you doing?" She screeched, unlocking the door and pushing him out of the way. He sobbed on the ground, spit out pieces of his own teeth as they regrew and his skin healed. He wanted so badly to die, why must he be denied even that?  
  
"Kill me! Let me die, _please!_ I should have died eighty-four days ago please just let me go! Let me die!"  
  
"The great Alexander Hamilton, begging for mercy," she sneered, waving her fingers so a shade of darkness covered the window and blocked out the sunlight. "I'm impressed. I can't let you die, not yet. So keep counting the days you're here, even if you can no longer move your fingers to carve the lines. I might even have to move you to another room so you have enough space." She ran her hand along the uneven grooves of Alexander's tally marks, and then peered over to the other set of them on the opposite wall. "But definitely not anytime soon."  
  
"Please, Angelica, I will do anything you want if it ends in you killing me, or you letting me killing myself. Please, I am _begging you_ ."  
  
Eliza visited again that afternoon, perhaps at Angelica's request, and this time Alexander couldn't think of anything at all, let alone drinking from the woman he married who didn't even know he was alive. He laid on the ground, wailing, not able to tell time through the shade Angelica cast. He wanted to die, he _had to_ . An eternity in this hell was worse than the duel, of the bullet in his side and the surgery required to remove it. An eternity here was worse than death.  
  
The night of day eighty-three, or at least Alexander thought it was night, Angelica crouched down in front of him as he woke up, two squirrels lying dead next to her and a look of pride he hadn't seen in years in her eyes. She ran her hand down his face, beaming, guiding him to sit up.  
  
"That was Eliza," she said, soft. "That was Eliza and you didn't think of draining her once. That's progress." She handed him one of the squirrels.  
  
"Does this mean that one day you'll let me go? Lift the curse and let me see her again?"  
  
Angelica's face fell. "No. My curse will remain for as long as you live, and I will never lift it even after my death."  
  
Alex sighed. "Okay." He stared at her as he drained the small animal, snatching the other from her and drinking that one too. Angelica smiled and nodded before getting up and moving to the door, but before she could lock it shut again, he ran to her, much faster than he was as a human.  
  
Gripping her shoulders, he asked, "Do you mean that? You'll really never let me see her again?"  
  
"Yes," she whispered, swallowing. Her shoulders tensed, but she did not cower from him. "If you see Eliza again, both of you will die. It is irreversible. The moment you lay eyes on her, the second you seek her out, you will burn, and she will die with you."   
  
"Why would you do this to me?"  
  
"You are a monster, Alex, I heard it in your voice the moment you asked where Eliza was when we first came here. Eliza may accept you for who you are, but I will never take that risk, I will not let you hurt her again."  
  
"I'm sorry, Angelica. I'm sorry I made you think so low of me and I'm sorry for proving you right," He mumbled, stepping closer and sinking his fangs into her neck.  
  
She didn't scream, closed her eyes and sobbed. If the past eighty-three days had not happened, he would've felt guilt, but now all that filled his mind was the taste of  _pleasure_.   
  
His first drop of human blood tasted like heaven on earth, like candy running down his throat and liquid sugar. He was ecstatic, high on every drop he took from her. He ripped his fangs out of her neck and watched how her blood sprayed across the walls before he dug back in, felt as Angelica reached back and clawed at him, to no use. Her spells must not be so useful to her like this, he thought as she dropped her dead and empty body on the ground as he rushed out of the house.  
  
He looked out into the night from the end of the entry to Angelica's house, covered in blood and not much else, cloak bunched in one hand. He licked his lips and decided he wanted _more_ , as much of it as he could get as soon as he could get it.  
  
He wanted to find Eliza, but the mark on his arm didn't go away, so he picked the opposite direction from which they came and traveled for as long as he could until sunrise fell when he would hide wherever he could find shade. At dusk, he moved out again, picking up whoever he could and draining them until they were nothing but a dried corpse in the middle of an empty street, not likely to be found until morning, when he would be long gone.  
  
He wracked up a body count of thirty-seven and went through five states in thirty-five days. Alexander's life passed by in blood covered blurs and bright red weeks where all he did was _drink_ . On the hundredth day of his dreadful second chance at life, he drank an entire pub's worth of people, and never felt better in all his fifty years.  
  
There was a crisis, of course, about the serial killer making his way through the country taking out everyone he saw no matter who they were. Angelica was marked as the first victim, but details of the prison cell with tally marks carved into the walls of her basement never surfaced. It was a risk to even keep moving, but he did, any way to run from anyone who might question him, who might recognize him.  
  
One hundred twenty days into his trip, he crawled through a waist high grass, water seeping into his shoes as the light rain fell around him. Smoke curled and burned in the woods in front of him. He hadn't fed in two days. It was too late for anyone to be awake, so this person has the lovely opportunity to be Alex's meal for the night.  
  
He hit the edge of the grass field before running into the forest, following the light, the silhouette of a man becoming clearer the closer he got. The man's obscure features, skin tanned by the southern heat, shoulders hunched over a fire to stay safe, observing his surroundings just south of not well enough. His eyes, deep green, came into focus as Alexander went from behind one tree to one much closer, and Alex's still heart almost picked back up again at who he saw.  
  
John Laurens, as beautiful as the day he said goodbye to him, sat hunched over a campfire in the middle of what must be the South Carolinian woods.  
  
And Alex thought he was the only one who could come back to life.


	3. to love and lose twice over

John watched many sunrises in his life, from ones he caught as a child, in the passing hours when he couldn't sleep, or was wide awake from studying, to ones he saw in the war, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that gave the opposing force away, opening an opportunity for him to strike. He watched them with Alexander, when sleep did little to soothe them, so they sat outside together and watched the sun peek up over the horizon, comfortable to stay silent as long as they had each other.  
  
He watched many sunrises, and enjoyed the memories he had of them, but none of them quite compared to the one he saw as he lay dying on a river in South Carolina.  
  
John heard the sounds of men, of gunfire and screaming as the battle raged on around him, but he did not take time to understand what they're saying. Some soldiers came to move him and some to check if he was already dead but he whisked them off, wanted to stay, enjoy the morning, as it would be the last he would ever see. Horses galloped by and canons fired and there were several musket balls lodged in his body, but none of it mattered. This, the sunrise, the memories he kept in moments like this, was what mattered. Only this.  
  
The sunrise turned to dusk darkness as he died, on a Sunday morning on a river in South Carolina, eyes closed as he exhaled, free of his pain and free of the war and free of the love and burden he carried throughout all of it.  
  
To get shot was to feel his body be ripped and torn into, and to die after was a sweet release from a pain that consumed him.  
  
However, to wake up one week later, buried under the earth, hands pressed against the soft earth around him, was to be handed a second chance at a life he didn't want. His eyes were closed as he dug upward, struggling to breathe, suffocating under all the weight. Somebody wanted to live, God or otherwise, he at least had to see why.  
  
_This has been a kindness done to you, John Laurens, do not take it for granted_ .  
  
The voice swarmed his head as he pushed through, felt grass barely grown under the palms of his hand and the sunlight in his eyes. The chill of early September swept across his skin as he crawled further out of his grave, shaking dirt from his bullet ridden clothes and smoothing it down on his bullet-free body. The only pain he felt was the pain in his arms from digging, the musket balls gone.  
  
His mind filled with what to do, go home, write to his family, tell everyone he wasn't dead. He wanted to stay awake for weeks, just because he could, to wash the dirt off of him, to be caught in a thunderstorm and feel the rain pelt his skin and make him feel alive again. He wanted to see his siblings, his father, Lafayette, _Alexander_ , and surround himself with them until the time of his actual death came.  
  
A painful burning in his forearm broke him from his thoughts, as he ripped back his sleeve and saw a dark _E_ printed there, searing into his bones.  
  
_You cannot go back to Alexander, and he cannot find out you are alive still. If you return to him, you will die again, and you will never return. I am sorry, John, but it is necessary_ .  
  
"Why? Who are you?" He asked the voice in his head aloud, unsure who it could be, or where they were. He looked around, and sure enough he found himself alone.  
  
_He has mourned you long enough, to see you again will break him. Please, he is on the cusp of something beautiful, of something_ important _, your return would cloud his judgement and make him foolish._ _  
_ _  
_ John sat down in the dirt next to his grave, sighing. He couldn't see Alexander, but he could see Lafayette, and his family, to write Mulligan and see where he is, rekindle friendships that others thought dead because he was. He had a whole new life to make, to restart, and that thought thrilled him.  
  
All at once, he sprung up from the ground and ran into the river, emerging himself in the icy water as it rushed around him. He listened to it smack against the rocks as he swam, peeling off his clothing until he wore nothing but his breeches, climbing up onto a large rock and throwing the soaked cloth out in front of him. He laid on the hard stone, laughing at the world around him and how he managed to lose a battle but defeat death.  
  
_You truly are lucky_ .  
  
_Are you sure you want to return home?_  
  
John sat up, once again checking for someone, but again found nobody. He leaned against the rock again, grinning in the sun.  
  
"Of course, why would I not?"  
  
_Going back home means rejoining the war, even if it is over. Beginning anew and trying to make something of yourself. Even if you succeed, word of your resurrection will spread, and Alexander will find out, and you will die. I'm afraid I haven't thought this through. I've doomed you. That wasn't my intention. I am so sorry._ _  
_ _  
_ "That's okay," John whispered, and he found that he meant it. "I am fine here, like this. The war I chased is over, I can rest."  
  
_You will have to live in hiding for the rest of your life_ .  
  
"At least I'll be alive."  
  
_I can take it away if you wish_ .  
  
"Please don't! Please, I can live like this. Can I see my other family while I'm alive, even if it's from a distance?"  
  
_Of course. I am sorry, John Laurens, but I must go. I wish you the best._  
  
The voice lifted like mist from his mind, leaving him alone with his thoughts for the first time in a long time. Water rushed against the rocks, the stone was cold underneath his skin, goosebumps came up on his arms from the chill of the wind. His clothes dried, blackened with gunpowder and stained with blood, and blew past him. John grabbed them before they fell back in the water, holding them close to his chest and thinking about what he was going to do now.  
  
He ended up going for a walk in the woods, and then he ended up staying there.  
  
John spent decades in the woods near the river where he died, never feeling the need to go farther for long. He visited neighboring towns often, ones that wouldn't recognize him, usually at night so nobody would catch him, and stole things he needed to live. Food and clothing and blankets, that's all. He told himself everything of value was not necessary. He would not his second life in prison for any amount of time.  
  
He only strayed once, when his father and siblings returned from England two years after he died, and he stood in the woods on the outskirts of their house and watched them all move in, laughing and embracing like they'd been apart for centuries and not mere minutes. Martha laughed loud enough that John could _feel_ it, wrapping around his heart and squeezing.  
  
He didn't stay for long after that. John walked back to his little camp overnight, reached home by morning and collapsed on the cot he made for himself, falling asleep and ignoring the tears that soaked the fabric underneath him.  
  
John huddled over a fire he built, struggling to retain the warmth it provided. Moths took to all of his blankets and clothes over the summer, leaving him unprotected in the cold, fingers numb as they gripped the fraying material closer to him. He planned a trip into town later in the night, when the town was asleep and unsuspecting.  
  
"John?" Someone in front of him asked, but as he looked up he found nobody.  
  
He stood up cautiously, his blanket dropping to the ground behind him. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to make out the shapes of anything other than trees, but all he saw were trees and the tall grass field that bordered the river.  
  
"Hello?" He called, jumping when a figure, hidden underneath a dark black cloak, jumped out from behind a tree. John grabbed the knife he stole from an unconscious man in an alley and waved it out in front of him, heart picking up faster as the figure didn't flinch, stumbling toward him faster.  
  
"Who are you?" He yelled, hand shaking. Even if this person was trying to hurt him, he wouldn't be able to get a stab in edgewise.  
  
An equally shaky hand reached out from the cloak and pulled it off, Alexander standing underneath it, tears in his eyes as his face came into the light. He looked too young for his age, his eyes glimmering in the dark as John noticed, offhandedly, that blood covered his shirt, dried on his chin and across his lips. He staggered back as Alex stepped forward.  
  
"John?" Alex asked, and John stared at him.  
  
"Alex?"  
  
It took two seconds and John almost tripping on the firewood before Alexander was in his arms again, John's arms wrapped so tight around him he could feel Alex's heartbeat against his stomach. The years they spent apart softened him out, the gaunt man he used to know now well fed and less obsessed with the importance of war and legacies, either by force or circumstance, or both.  
  
"How are you alive?" Alex sobbed into his chest, grabbing onto fistfuls of John's moth ridden shirt and pulling him closer in. "I got the letter from, from your father saying you were dead, I _saw it_ . It said you were dead, John, it-"  
  
"I did die, Alexander," John whispered, holding Alex's face in his hands. "on that river just over there. I was dead for a week. Then I woke up, buried, and had to crawl my way out of my own grave."  
  
"Are you okay? Did, did anything change?" His tone was different now as he pulled back, eyes scanning over his face.  
  
"No." John shook his head. "All the bullets were gone from where I got shot, and I have this tattoo, but other than that I'm still the same, Alexander. I'm still me." He showed him the _E_ on his arm, and Alex's eyes widened, but he didn't comment on it.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I heard about you," John said. "You really got into a duel with Burr? And you _lost_ ?"  
  
Alex blushed. John felt in turning in the pit of his stomach, twenty-two year old feelings resurfacing from where he thought he managed to push them down.  
  
"I didn't want his daughter to suffer," was all he replied with, and John nodded. "My children have a mother still, even if they don't have me. Miss Burr didn't have that opportunity. Without her father she had nobody else."  
  
"That's very noble of you," he told him, running a hand through his hair. "How did you get here, though? You once told me you would rather die than come to this half of the country." He chuckled to himself. "I suppose, though, you already died once."  
  
"It's a long story," he muttered. "I was brought back to life, similar to how you were, but I didn't come all the way back."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm a monster, John. I'm caught somewhere in between alive and dead," he admitted. "I don't even know if this is real because I haven't fed in two days, but, Christ, do I want it to be real."  
  
John watched as he spoke, ignored the burning in his arm and focused on Alex's mouth, the sharpened fangs behind his lips, stained red. _Oh_ , when he said he hadn't _fed_ , he meant…  
  
"It's real. I'm not, this is-" he sighed, pulling Alexander into his chest again. "I'm here, I'm alive."  
  
Alex started crying again, hooking his arms under John's and gripped his shoulders. "Why did you never look for me? I was, I never left New York, John, I was right there. I was right there and you never _came back_ ."  
  
"I _couldn't_ Alexander. When I woke up, someone, I don't know who, warned me that I could never see you again, I didn't want to risk that."  
  
"I still love you," he sobbed. "I loved you during the war and you left and I still loved you and you _died_ and I _still loved you_ . I died and one of the first things I saw when I got shot was _you_ because I thought you were dead and I thought I was going to get to see you again."  
  
"But I'm alive, Alex, and you still get to see me again. I'm _right here_ . I never stopped loving you either, Alexander, I could never stop loving you."  
  
John looked down at Alex, still crying, blood still staining his lips. He was beautiful, even now, and John heard her voice in the back of his head warning him against this, but he didn't care.  
  
"Wait, wait, stop." Alex pulled away. "I don't, you don't deserve this. There's a river a little ways away from here, let me go wash all the blood off me before I come back."  
  
John nodded. "Let me go with you. Now that I have you back I don't want to spend another moment without you." He felt his face heat, but Alex only smiled at him.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Alex yelped as he stepped in the water, completely naked, not that John was complaining. He shivered as he walked further in, almost convulsing as the water came up to his waist. John laughed and followed, holding him close and kissing his shoulder.  
  
"How old are you?" Alex asked.  
  
John hesitated, never really thought about it before. "Fifty. I'm fifty years old."  
  
Alex hummed. "I'm only forty-nine."  
  
John scoffed as Alex sunk below the water and swam away, smug. The water rippled as he moved, the moon making his skin glimmer when he stood to breathe. He was like a deity, Alexander, and how John ever got so lucky to have them both die and come back again, he didn't know.  
  
_That's not possible. How is that possible? He sought you out, even in death, and now you're with him, but I don't know how._  
  
"Neither do I," John whispered, watching Alex float on the water in front of him.  
  
_My curse is irreversible. If I try to take it back now, you will die_ .  
  
"I know."  
  
_You won't be alive for much longer, a week at most._  
  
"I know."  
  
_Are you sure you want to do this? I can remove him from you, maybe, if I work on it. I can transfer his spirit to me._ _  
_ _  
_ "No, I want this. To die by his hand is the best way I can think of to go."  
  
_We are more similar than I thought_ .  
  
With that, she left, and Alex swam back toward him, wiping the blood of his mouth with his shirt. John would have to take him into town tomorrow night, as their time now would be better spent doing other things.  
  
"Are you ready to go back?" John asked. Alex nodded.  
  
"Lead the way."  
  
Their hands found each other, freezing and numb in the chill, as they walked back. Alex stepped closer, trying to leech warmth John couldn't provide, huffed and complained about the cold when he pressed against John's chilled skin.  
  
"I'm sure I could find another way to warm you," John muttered, and Alex ran ahead of him. John snorted. He looked ridiculous in just his socks, but God if John didn't love him.  
  
The _E_ mark on his arm stung. John coughed at the sudden burning, hand coming up to cover his mouth, shaking as he found blood there.  
  
"John?" Alex called, walking back to him. John wiped his hand in the bundle of clothes he carried at his side, grinning. Alex stared at him.  
  
"Right behind you."  
  
Alex quirked an eyebrow, but dropped the subject in favor of acknowledging John's previous promise. He grabbed his free hand and dragged him into the makeshift tent, pushing him down on the cot and taking off his shoes but not moving beyond that.  
  
"You're just as beautiful as the day I last saw you," he said, unbelieving. "That shouldn't be possible."  
  
John smiled. "We both came back from the dead, and you want to discuss what should and should not be possible?"  
  
"That's true," he agreed, then leaned over John and kissed him. It was the most tenderness he felt in a while, left him breathless as he pulled Alexander closer by his hair. He gasped, laughing, and climbed onto the tiny cot on top of him.  
  
"You certainly haven't forgotten me, John Laurens," he mumbled.  
  
John watched the moon reach across the sky through a space in the tent, Alexander quiet at his side. He was awake, judging by the short, bitten off nails grazing across his stomach. He pressed a kiss to his side every few moments, moving further into his side.  
  
"What did you mean earlier, when you said you were a monster?" John questioned, and Alex sighed, pulled the blanket over them and pulled at the stray threads at the ends.  
  
"When I came back to life, Angelica told me I didn't come _all_ the way back, and that I was closer to dead than alive. I didn't get what she meant at first, and then she started feeding me animals, their blood. Small ones at first, and it tasted disgusting but made me feel less like I was dying, so I did it. She trapped me in her basement for eighty-three days. She starved me for most of that time, and the first time I ever drank _human_ blood, I ended up killing her, Angelica, and I, I-"  
  
"Oh, Alexander," John mumbled, turning and pulling him closer.  
  
"I drink human blood," Alex deadpanned, and John hesitated. He wasn't scared of Alexander, knew what it was like to kiss him and taste blood, when the battle lit the spark of adrenaline in both of them and pulled them together, but this was something _else_ . It's not everyday your resurrected lover tells you that he drinks human blood to survive, but it was John's reality, and it left him kind of dumbfounded.  
  
"Do you know why?"  
  
"No, and it _haunts me_ . I don't want to be this _thing_ , but I can't fix it, I can't. All I can do is try and stave off my thirst, which I did on my trip down here, but my skin is _humming_ and I need _something_ , John. _Anything_ ."  
  
"Sleep, Alexander, and we'll figure it out in the morning." He kissed the back of his head. Alexander hummed.  
  
"I love you, John."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
The next day John spent hunting in the woods, trying to find the same small animals he would usually eat, but this time for Alexander. He had already stocked up on his food supply for the upcoming winter, but now he had someone else to worry about feeding. He grinned to himself as he silently followed a squirrel. He had someone else to worry about, and that someone was Alexander.  
  
He came back with a small pile of animals, all wrapped in an old blanket like a sack. Alex curled up in a corner, reading a book John stole from the local library and paging through it, out of the sun where he couldn't burn. Apparently he did that, John didn't know why, didn't ask either.  
  
"Hello," Alex greeted, turning the page. He had John's cup next to him, soaked with red.  
  
John set down the bag of animals. "Where did you get that?" He coughed a few times and swallowed the blood that came up in his mouth. Alex sniffed and looked up at him.  
  
"I found a little fox thing clawing at one of your old shirts. It attacked me first, though." He took a sip from the cup and groaned, dropping his head down on his lap. "It's putrid."  
  
"I'm sorry," John said, sitting on the ground in next to him and knocking their shoulders together. Alex smiled a little bit before licking his lips and kissing his cheek, smiling when John didn't turn away.  
  
"It's worth it. The scale between functioning and monster is a fairly easy one to tip, I'm trying to avoid that. This is how I avoid that."  
  
"Have you ever-? The monster you say you are?"  
  
Alex didn't answer, took another sip from his cup and kept on reading.  
  
That night, between dawn and dusk, John took Alex by the hand and walked him into the city. Whispered conversation passed between them effortlessly, the only concern was getting caught when they laughed too loud at each other and had to take a moment to recompose themselves. It felt like the past twenty-two years just simply had not happened, and John didn't go to fight a war already ended, and he didn't die watching sunrise on a river that he lived one hundred feet away from.  
  
"So nobody is awake right now?" Alex questioned, skipping down the road.  
  
"Not that I know of. That's why we have to be careful," he warned, grabbing Alex's hand and pulling him back so they were pressed against each other, "that we don't get caught. People are not fond of thieves."  
  
"I imagine that people aren't fond of a dead war hero and a dead politician becoming thieves, either. I guess we're just full of disappointments tonight." He kissed the underside of John's jaw before dashing off again, taking the pin John gave him from his hair and picking the lock of a tailor shop and making an offhanded comment about finding clothes despite their days not needing many, and sneaking in.  
  
_I can't lift the curse without killing you._  
  
The mist fogged his vision this time, stronger than before, freezing him to his spot.  
  
"I don't want you to. Have you been trying to?"  
  
_Yes, but you coughing up blood is not part of that. You aren't affected in any way by me doing this, only if I manage to break the curse will you feel it, because I'll leave you, and Alexander will be gone from your mind. You won't die, just feel lighter, but I can't break the curse. I've tried._ _  
_ _  
_ "If Alex's spirit is with me, would I see him? Would he appear to me?"  
  
_No. Why?_  
  
John watched Alex try on jackets made for much larger men. "No reason."  
  
_You have very little time left._  
  
"I know."  
  
_I'll keep trying to break the curse._  
  
"I said not to. I want to die here, like this, knowing he's here, even if it means I die forever this time."  
  
_You're more devoted to him than I thought_ .  
  
"You should've thought harder, then," he muttered. The fog lifted and he was on the ground, Alex peering over him with terrified eyes. John choked, but it was all blood, there was an ache in his body over where the musket balls hit. John screamed, felt the pain again for the first time but dull, not shooting but digging, like they were burying themselves in his body manually.  
  
"John? John!" Alex screamed. A woman came out of her house, searching for the source of all the noise, clutching a lamp in her hand.  
  
"People are trying to sleep!" She snapped, and Alex didn't give her time to continue. He ran to her in a blur, sinking his fangs into her neck. By the time Alex let go she was dead, dropped into the street and left to rot as Alex picked John up and ran him back to their tent.  
  
"You're going to be okay," was the first thing Alex told him after laying him down on the cot.  
  
John didn't answer, spit blood out of his mouth and onto the ground.  
  
"What you did to that woman, it was terrifying."  
  
"I know. I am a monster, John, I know when to be one and when to not be one. That was my time to be one."  
  
"You could've just sent her back inside."  
  
Alex ran out and came back with a cup of water. A new cup, the one that didn't have fox blood in it earlier.  
  
"The animal blood keeps me weak, I wouldn't have been able to carry you back."  
  
John stayed silent as Alex tended to him, not knowing what he could say when he knew he was dying and Alexander didn't. He watched Alex wash the blood from him without pause, almost forgetting that he drained a woman not ten minutes ago. He repeated over and over again that John was going to be fine, and John wanted to tell him the truth as much as he wanted to believe the lie for him.  
  
The second time John died, it was at sunset, and John never watched many of those in all his fifty years. Sunrises, sure, because those were rare and he had to catch them before they went, but sunsets, not so much. You were expected to watch sunsets, so John didn't, he only lived in them, and lived with them, and never stopped to take a moment to embrace that the world he lived in was beautiful and he was alive to see it.  
  
The day John died, at sunset, Alex covered every inch of his skin he could reach and risked the burning of the sun as he pulled back both flaps of their tent and led them out. John wasn't going to get better, they knew that, but damn him if he wasn't going to make sure John's last sunset wasn't the most beautiful one he got to see.  
  
"You don't have to do this," John croaked, but Alex didn't listen, intertwined their fingers and walked down to the river.  
  
"I want to."  
  
They dipped their feet in the river and didn't spare time with complaining about the temperature. John leaned his head on Alex's shoulder and embraced the stinging, unbearable pain as the ghost of musket balls tore through his skin and he spit more blood into the river. Alex held his hand tighter. They both cried.  
  
_You're dying._  
  
"I know," he whispered, barely words at all.  
  
_I'm so sorry. If Alexander knew what he was doing to you, I'm sure he would stop to let you live._ _  
_ _  
_ John looked over at the man next to him, so young for his age, so old for his features. "I know he would."  
  
_Goodbye, John Laurens. I hope your second chance at life was better._  
  
Alex kissed the side of his head when he noticed John staring, offering a sad smile to him as he rubbed light circles into John's hand.  
  
"It was. It most definitely was."  
  
John Laurens died in Alexander's arms at sunset, on a river in South Carolina, twenty feet and twenty-two years from where he died the first time. Alexander sobbed for two days, curled in a ball in their tent. John's body lay in the center, bloody and dead and _gone_ for the second time over. It felt worse this time, because Alexander was _there_ this time, watching one of the only people he ever loved relive the death he missed, and then having him stay dead.  
  
Alex ended up burning it all. The tent, the clothes, John, all of it. He only took a blanket that they used that smelled like John and the clothes they stole the night before. He set the clothes in the blanket and tied it off with John's old hair ribbon before starting the walk back the way he came, not knowing where he was going, and not sparing much thought to care.


	4. soif de sang et un bon amant

The smell of the ocean invaded Lafayette's sense as the small boat lurched from side to side on the calm water of the night. He gripped a bottle of wine in one hand and let the other lay flat against the wood of the deck, kicked off his boots and laid there. He unbuttoned his shirt to avoid the oppressive summer heat, acknowledging the way some of the sailor stared, some in confusion or concern, others with interest. Neither said a word to voice their thoughts, though.  
  
"Is that the captain's wine?" A crewman asked, one Lafayette knew but didn't _know_ , and spoke to but never had a conversation with.  
  
"What would you do if it was?" Lafayette grinned, and the man blushed like a schoolgirl, turning away.  
  
"You, you know what they say 'bout the captain," he mumbled. "You know what kinda guy he is."  
  
Lafayette knew. It'd been an ongoing rumor among the crew and him, about the captain and his peculiar behaviors. The way he was so protective of his chambers, and his endless supply of wine, and the way he'd pick up women when they docked who were never seen again. The offstandish, dead aura of him, the way only opened his mouth to grunt orders or to eat, always with his head turned down, in shadow.  
  
Some of the other men claimed it was a natural consequence of sailing as long as the captain had, but nobody knew exactly how long he'd been doing it, guessed somewhere between twenty and fifty years. Others liked to joke he was something inhuman, and that if someone removed him from the sea for too long, he'd surely turn to dust.  
  
"If he's angry about it, he's angry. He isn't going to scold, let alone strike, the man who is paying him more than this boat is worth for one small trip to visit an old friend." He took another sip from the bottle. "Besides, his taste in wine is terrible anyway."  
  
"You're French, aren't you supposed to have a taste for things like that?"  
  
Lafayette grinned, looking out across the sea. "That's not all I have a taste for, I can assure you."  
  
The sound of thunder in the distance broke their small flirtation, drawing the sailor back to his duty and Lafayette back to the bottle of wine. It tasted off, metallic almost, but it could be the way it was kept that altered it, so Lafayette didn't complain. Another reason for staying quiet was, of course, that he stole this wine, but that was neither here nor there.  
  
Moonlight turned the ocean into a sea of diamonds as the storm drew closer and the bottle of wine drained. Lafayette's head swam in its own thoughts, and he noticed distantly that his leg, the one that'd been damaged for decades, seemed perfectly fine now. It wasn't the numbing haze of the drink, he could feel his bones repairing, the muscle working itself back into a healthy condition and the scar fading within seconds. His body, now old and overworked, felt as young as it did before the war, when Lafayette could run and dance and fight to prove the world that it was not only his blood that made him noble.  
  
"I think I am going to go to bed," Lafayette announced, standing easy and going below deck, hearing the other men grumble about them having to prepare for the upcoming storm instead of sleeping, then the captain ignore their complaints and order them to work faster as Lafayette snuck under the blanket of one bed and fell into an easy sleep.  
  
He woke up to the sounds of screaming and water flooded up to his neck. Jagged rocks destroyed the side of the cabin, stabbing through one side and impaling the upper deck. Lafayette could see a sailor, no older than his mid twenties, skewered on the vertex of one spiked stone, his mouth open with silent horror as his eyes froze in death. Lafayette wanted to take him down, hand his body back to his family and try and express his sorrow for their loss. He wanted to take him home.  
  
However, the ship was sinking, and soon Lafayette would look like him if he did not think to move.  
  
The captain screamed, mouth wide as he yelled orders, trying in a futile attempt to save an already dying vessel. Lafayette saw, for the first time, two fangs protruding where his regular teeth should have been, sharper than knives and glinting in the light. Lafayette stared in terror before the ship whipped sideways, exploding in a mess of splintered wood and canvas and men, and throwing Lafayette onto a patch of rocks, slippery with water but still just as unforgiving.  
  
The last thing Lafayette felt before everything faded were the rocks tearing his skin and ripping him to pieces.  
  
After, as if the rough stone had been only a pinprick, the captain of their now shipwrecked boat pulled them to shore by the arm, muttering to himself as Lafayette felt each grain of sand as it grated against his skin. The water felt too heavy, the moon too bright. The smell of the ocean made them sick, too overwhelming, made their stomach flip over in knots until he emptied the contents onto the beach next to them.  
  
"You shouldn't've stole my wine," the captain grumbled. Lafayette coughed and nodded.  
  
The story of how Lafayette turned, with one bottle of wine mixed with the captain's blood and an inconvenient shipwreck, wasn't one he shared often. He saved it for dinner parties with old friends who asked how he managed to stay so young, who actually answered the invitation to join him for dinner and make the effort to climb through the thickets of forest before finally finding the dark oak front door and bothering to knock.  
  
Tragically, however, the amount of friends Lafayette reached out to, and the amount still left alive, were few and far between. His days were nothing but wandering aimlessly in the house he compelled people into building, blood in crystal clear glasses swishing back and forth as he made his rounds. He did this until night, when he'd sleep anywhere he could, in search of a new sunrise he could watch from the shadows.  
  
Autumn swept in as did the harvest, apples and pumpkins, pomegranates and sweet potatoes flooding their senses and pulling him into town. The first night he heard it, the clicking of carts and the jovial voices of villagers, enthusiastic about what they've grown, unabashed in their pride, Lafayette took the silk cloak down from the hook of their closet and ran into town to see festival.  
  
There was a bonfire in the middle, flames leaping happily in the air as sparks flew and children ran around, playing and laughing as children should always. Men and Women stood ways away, some reprimanding the children for getting to close to the fire, others chatting amongst themselves and offering exchanges in crops they'd brought to sell. A happy energy settled over this little village, as the moon hung big and round in the sky, like it waved clouds away from in front of it just to witness this.  
  
Lafayette didn't feel right taking part in this, in these people's happiness. They had lives, children among them, and he did not fit into a world with them. He was a monster, he could hear each and every one of their heartbeats as they kept time with their laughter, the skipping of children, it was a risk even being here.  
  
"Excuse me," a woman broke Lafayette from his thoughts, her voice both familiar and foreign. Her hand was gentle on his arm, as the hood of her cloak shrouded her in darkness, hiding her face, letting only her faint grin show through.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Come with me," she instructed, walking further to the outskirts of the small town and into the woods, cloak swishing behind her as she led him. Lafayette tried to resist, but she pulled him in, led him down a winding pathway he didn't even know existed before now.  
  
She didn't speak as walking turned into running and weaving her way through the trees, Lafayette following, unable to break away. His own house came into view, the lantern he left hanging in front of the door shining in the darkness, swaying in the wind. She waved her hand out in front of her, the lights inside igniting as she did, visible through the curtain covered windows.  
  
"Why are you-? What?"  
  
The woman turned and smiled. "You will see. Patience."  
  
The light of Lafayette's home welcomed the two of them as the woman stepped in ahead of him, taking view of the room and nodding. Her hood dropped to her shoulders as Lafayette closed the door behind her, her face coming into view for the first time in a long time.  
  
"Mrs. Washington?" Lafayette asked, and she beamed at him. She pulled him into her arms, her hair tickling Lafayette's nose as she hugged him. Lafayette missed this, the warmth and comfort of others, missed the feeling of someone's arms wrapped around his shoulders and their head on his chest.  
  
"We thought you were dead," she whispered, as though afraid to say it even after being proved wrong. "We heard the stories, of, of your wife's passing and of your fleeing from France. They found the ship, all those sailors, all those bodies..." She turned stiff in Lafayette's arms, voice cold in remembering.  
  
Lafayette stepped back. "I didn't survive the shipwreck. I died, there with those sailors, and then I was brought back because I drank a bottle of the captain's blood, and that woke me up _somehow._ I'm not human anymore, Mrs. Washington. I think I'm something else entirely."  
  
"I've told you that you can call me Martha," she choked, tears falling down her face.  
  
"I-"  
  
"I know what you are, Lafayette, I can sense it. You didn't think to ask why I'm so young even though it's been decades since you last saw me?"  
  
"Are you...like me?"  
  
She shook her head. "No."  
  
"Then-?"  
  
Martha smiled, eyes glowing for a moment as the oil lamps that littered the room burned hotter, flames jumping out and dancing across the room but not burning anything, floating over the furniture and the walls and the prancing across the floor as it wrapped around Lafayette's body and went out.  
  
He looked up at her, still feeling the heat. "A witch."  
  
"So it seems," she spoke, grinning.  
  
"Why did you come here? How did you find me?"  
  
"We heard rumors, saw sketches of your shadow in the window that people drew. We catch onto those things, dear, and now that you're alive, I want to help you. I _can_ help you with this. If you let me, I can show you that this isn't a curse, but a blessing, and a fun one if you really want to learn."  
  
Lafayette stared at Martha, her aged eyes and young face, bright in hope that Lafayette would agree. She'd been a mother to him, sat with him by the fire in Washington's tent and talked about everything from his life in France to her latest adventures in her home at Mount Vernon. They'd enjoyed each other's company, found friendship in one another and a soft companionship that Lafayette never quite found again in anyone he met.  
  
"I will let you teach me, but I insist you stay here with me, at least tonight."  
  
She nodded. "Of course."  
  
Martha became a comfortable presence in Lafayette's house, scolding him for the dusty shelves and windows, spending days going through the house with him and cleaning, refusing to teach him anything until each room was spotless.  
  
"This is pointless!" He yelled as he swept the dining room, not even bothering to look at the layer of dust on the the table. Lafayette didn't have to eat much nowadays, and what they did eat was more on the drinking side than food.  
  
"This is _necessary_ !" Martha called from another room.  
  
The first day of Lafayette's teaching, Martha presented him with a ring. It wasn't anything special, simple silver with an engraving of the moon on the inside.  
  
"It will allow you to walk outside during the day," she explained as Lafayette examined it before putting it on.  
  
_Where did she get this?_  
  
"I brought it with me, and then enchanted it." Lafayette snapped up to look at her.  
  
"I didn't know I spoke out loud."  
  
She hummed. "You didn't."  
  
A week passed before Martha went home, a week where she taught him how to control his thirst and when to lose control. How to turn others into what he was, how to kill other beings like himself if need be, how to lift things too heavy for his human self and the weaknesses that came with Lafayette's condition. She taught him minor spells that would help him, like charming other jewelry that would allow others he found to walk in the sun, how to ignite and distinguish fires.  
  
"Thank you, Martha, for everything," Lafayette said, waving his hand back and forth over a candle, staring as the wick flickered and smoked.  
  
Martha watched as she cut into her dinner. "It's no problem. Eat."  
  
"Not hungry."  
  
The next morning Martha was gone, every trace of her being in Lafayette's house gone. If it wasn't for the ring on his finger and the way the sun filtering in didn't kill him, he would've guessed he dreamed her.  
  
Being alone again wasn't something Lafayette could handle, not again. It meant silence and isolation and wondering if he was going mad inside the walls of the house that seemed to haunt him, mock him, twist his spirit into a yearning, wretched thing. Being alone in his house was too much to handle, so Lafayette set out to do something about it.  
  
Two days after Martha left, after Lafayette cleared out space and decorated the house enough that he looked welcoming, he began inviting people to his home for dinner parties. Nothing serious, just enough to satisfy his thirst and keep some others like him, that he found, close. He didn't think they'd stay, that they'd become his family and friends and the ones he trusted most in the world, but they did. Nothing that Lafayette ever expected to happen ever happened, and everything he expected never did.  
  
The parties changed the more comfortable Lafayette got with the people around him, became charged in an almost obscene way, as more and more clothes found their way off with each gathering and as they became bolder in their advances with one another. Hands found their way to ties and buttons and mouths pressed against skin and hands roaming anywhere they could reach. People branching off and some staying right there in the parlor, shedding shame like they did layers.  
  
Lafayette wasn't embarrassed by much anymore, the revolution and a certain Alexander Hamilton wearing down his bashfulness until there was nothing but the ability to decide what he wanted and the courage to go chase it. So when a man who Lafayette had only seen twice since the parties began offered to take him to bed, who was Lafayette to say no? He had nothing better to do that night, and this man had eyes that could make him go weak at the knees.  
  
It ended up being a tedious affair that ruined Lafayette's favorite sheets and left him generally unsatisfied in all ways but physically. Nothing went wrong, per se, but him and the man lying next to him, still trying to get his breath back, didn't click as much as Lafayette had with others in the past. Adrienne, Alexander, even John once or twice.  
  
Lafayette ended up kicking the man out, not wasting time on acting pleased when he could easily wallow in their own thoughts.  
  
Thinking about Adrienne, about Alexander, was still hard, even in passing. The two great loves of Lafayette's life both gone now, acquaintances of death in a way Lafayette could've been, but wasn't. Lafayette would give anything to have either of them back, he would feel the pain of death one million times over if only to have in his arms, in his bed, again.  
  
He fell asleep with them on his mind, their kind smiles so present even now, warm eyes and loving hands gripping Lafayette's own, keeping him safe even from where they were. In this there was nothing but love, radiating in his mind and his chest until dreams came and the world fell away behind him, until nothing existed but the three of them.  
  
It was the beginning of spring when Lafayette found out Alexander wasn't dead.  
  
Lafayette's eyes rolled back in their head as a man, he didn't know his name, sucked bruises into Lafayette's jaw. The marks wouldn't last, but the feeling was nice, so he sat back and let him devour him. A woman held someone's wrist to Lafayette's mouth, dripping blood on his lips until he opened his jaw, jostling the man on his lap, and drinking from her, ignoring the small squeak of the person attached to the arm he was bleeding dry.  
  
"There's someone at the door for you," Marie, the woman who guarded the door while the parties went on, announced as she stepped into the room.  
  
Lafayette groaned and looked at her. "Who?"  
  
"I don't know, _monsieur_ , he didn't say. He's a short man, though, dark hair. He's like you, with the-" she gestured to the pile of people, all in various states of undress and swallowed her fear "-blood."  
  
"Alright, then." He stood, weaving his way out of the crowd before walking past Marie. Her skin was pale, always was when she got too close to _their kind_ , and Lafayette wrapped a hand around her neck before he passed her.  
  
"You have a loose thread," he whispered, pulling on the strings that fastened her body to the rest of her until they came loose and her head went rolling to the floor. Her hands scrambled out to catch it, but missed, as they couldn't see where she was going. Lafayette always enjoyed teasing her. Her fear of them made no sense to him, as seams of thick thread lay right where they would need to go to kill her. She screamed and Lafayette laughed as he went to go answer the door.   
  
Lafayette supposed there were two main things he could've done upon seeing Alexander for the first time in years:  
  
The first, would be to cry, to sweep Alexander into his arms and ask how he'd gotten _here_ of all places after so long and not even want to _hear_ the answer because of how much joy they had that Alexander was alive. Lafayette could drag Alexander to his room where they'd be left alone to talk about everything that happened since they parted, and Lafayette might gather the courage to ask whether or not Alex still loved him, even though time had separated them enough for his answer to disappoint Lafayette in a way he _didn't_ want to think about.  
  
The second would be to kill him, to take a splintering piece of wood from the doorframe and drive it into Alexander's heart as deep as it could go. This couldn't be him, not after everything that happened, between them and their countries and their wars, and he wouldn't stand for the world's cruel games, not now, not ever.  
  
Lafayette didn't do either of those things. Instead, he took one look at Alexander, eyes hungry and shocked, and slammed the door right back in his face.  
  
"Lafayette?" Alex called on the other side of the door, pressing his ear against it like he needed to do that. "Was that you?"  
  
Silence from Lafayette's side, heart pounding in his chest as he slid down to the floor. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real.  
  
"Hello?" Alex asked, five minutes of no response later.  
  
"Alexander?" Lafayette stood up and opened the door, breath catching in his throat as he saw him, younger, eyes the same age as he was.  
  
"You look younger, good," Alex said, grinning.  
  
"So do you. How did you get here? I got a letter from your wife telling me that y-you-"  
  
"It's a long story," he replied, and Lafayette left it at that. "I did die, though, but I came back. I can't go back home," he swallowed, looking down at his feet, "so I was working my way down the country, until I got to South Carolina, then I came back up and eventually found this place."  
  
Lafayette only half listened, replaying old memories in their head of Alexander, of how much he loved him and how Lafayette still loved him even now. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, longer than he ever allowed it before, onto tattered clothes but a newer jacket, hanging off his shoulders and the sleeves going past his hands.  
  
"That's great. Wasn't John from South Carolina?"  
  
"He was." Alex nodded before continuing, "This might seem like a weird question, but is someone bleeding anywhere near here?"  
  
Lafayette thought to the party still going on inside. "Why?"  
  
"I could smell it." Alex smiled minutely, flashing his fangs, and Lafayette stared at him. _Oh_ .  
  
"You can come in," Lafayette breathed, and Alex went right into the parlor, dragging Lafayette behind him by his wrist. God, he missed this man.  
  
Lafayette and Alexander's history is a long one, spanning over years of coming so close together, and then drifting apart by the demands of revolution. Years Lafayette spent pining in secret, because it was too dangerous, because he couldn't put Alexander at risk like that, because Alexander already had John and Elizabeth and there was no room in their picture for Lafayette to fit.  
_  
_ _"You don't have to tiptoe around me, you know," Alexander whispered, lips brushing the tip of Lafayette's ear. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears, gripping the quill enough to break it._ _  
_ _  
_ _"I don't know what you mean, Alexander," Lafayette replied through gritted teeth, trying to focus on a letter to a friend, but the English translations had lost him._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Every time you see me with John, or Hercules, you avoid talking like doing so will make you sick." He grinned, dragging Lafayette's stool away from the desk and standing in front of him. "It's not necessary."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Alexander," Lafayette repeated, hands falling uselessly onto his lap._ _  
_ _  
_ _Alex moved them to his own waist and sat in his lap, not finding any room to feel guilty. Lafayette's breath hitched, then stopped altogether as Alex leaned down and connected their lips, soft and slow and halting, the whole war falling away the longer he stayed there._ _  
_ _  
_ _"You have John," Lafayette said once they broke apart, "and what would Mrs. Hamilton say? What would_ anyone _say if they found us like this?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Don't worry about it," Alex told him, like he didn't hear the question, but the tone of his voice. "Just follow my lead."_  
  
Lafayette watched as Alexander pulled off of a man's neck, red smeared everywhere on his tan skin, staining his shirt and lips as it dripped down his chest. Someone ripped open his shirt, exposing him further. Lafayette leaned against the doorway, not wanting to participate so much as watch, as the man he loved and left drained someone for all they were worth.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lafayette knew they would never stop loving Alexander. Through two revolutions and hell and back, losing family and friends, the one thing Lafayette _knew_ , was that he would always love Alexander, no matter the consequence or circumstance, no matter how inconvenient it was.  
  
The party died down as everyone branched off, either to sleep or continue the party in a more private setting, until the only ones left in the room were Alexander and Lafayette. Blood covered the former, on his hands and clothes and skin, in patches on his neck from where someone kissed him. He panted, looking up at Lafayette with clouded eyes, still blissed out on the adrenaline rush that came with doing this.  
  
"Is this what you've been doing while you've been here?" He questioned, licking blood from his fingers.  
  
Lafayette shrugged. "It beats being alone, helps curb the thirst, too."  
  
"Oh, I can tell." He moaned as he sucked his ring finger clean. Lafayette stared at him, goosebumps covering his skin.  
  
"Do you want to go to bed with me?" He blurted out, face burning as the words left his mouth before he could stop them.  
  
Alex looked at him, wide eyed, blinking slowly, licking blood from his lips.  
  
"I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry. I was caught up in the moment of seeing you again after all these y-"  
  
Alex crossed the room and kissed him, hands wrapped around Lafayette's neck. Lafayette made a sound of surprise before melting into it, backing Alex into the hallway and towards his bedroom, fumbling with the doorknob before pushing in and pinning Alex to the closed door.  
  
"So, I'm guessing that's a yes?" Lafayette laughed as Alex rolled his eyes, beaming, pushing Lafayette back on the bed.  
  
"I missed you," Alex told Lafayette once they settled down, wrapping his arms around his torso. "When I died, I never thought I'd get to see you again, because you were in France and I had to stay hidden and nobody that I cared about could ever know I was alive, but now I'm here, with you, and I'm, I just, I missed you."  
  
Lafayette kissed the top of his head. "I missed you too. I heard of your death in a letter from Mrs. Hamilton, and I almost sailed over myself to see if it was true. I see now, of course, that it wasn't, but the point remains."  
  
"I'm sorry to have worried so much." Alex mumbled, kissing Lafayette's stomach.  
  
"Don't be. You're here now, that's all that matters to me."  
  
Alex changed since the last time Lafayette saw him, which was expected, but it was little things Lafayette wondered about.  
  
He flinched when Lafayette got too close, didn't like drinking from metal cups and got sick drinking from animals when the human blood stock from the parties got too low. He would rather starve than drink from an animal, had to lock himself in Lafayette's room, the latter waiting on the other side of the door, before he could admit that, like Lafayette would do something to him. He counted the days with ink on a piece of paper that he kept in Lafayette's desk drawer.  
  
"Why do you do that?" Lafayette asked, leaning on the edge of his, _their_ , bed as Alex pulled a piece of paper out from the desk drawer and drew a tally mark on it in ink. He did it every morning, the second he woke up, a routine never explained and never questioned until now.  
  
"A habit I picked up, I guess," Alex shrugged. He rolled up the piece of paper and put it back in the drawer before going to Lafayette and kissing him, hands placed gently on the sides of his jaw and tipping his head back. Lafayette grabbed his hips and pulled him onto his lap, placing his feet flat on the ground to balance. Alex laughed and untied Lafayette's hair ribbon, letting his hair falling over down.  
  
"Another habit?" Lafayette smiled turned them so Alex was on his back on the bed.  
  
"No, this is but a fun pastime," he teased, yelping as Lafayette bit down on his collarbone.  
  
On day twenty-five, according to Alex, Lafayette gave him a ring with the sun carved in it, enchanted with the same spell his own was. Alex stared at it for a long time, eyes wide like a fish as he struggled to find the words.  
  
"What is this for?"  
  
Lafayette watched as two women attached Marie's head back onto her neck again, one holding her head and someone else sewing it back on. Marie held onto the legs of the woman who held her head. Lafayette thought she went by Louise. There was something between them that he couldn't decipher, but his attention fell back to Alexander, as it always did.  
  
"It will allow you to walk in the sunlight, if you want. You don't have to. Louise, over there, she doesn't like the sunlight at all."  
  
Alex slipped the ring on his finger like it was the most simple thing in the world. Lafayette didn't know why, but he felt a lot like crying.  
  
The next day Alex sobbed on the floor of their bedroom, pounding on the floor and clawing into it with bleeding fingers he didn't give time to heal. He screamed loud enough for the village to hear, loud enough that it pierced Lafayette's ears in a way nothing else had ever managed.  
  
"Alex! Alexander!" Lafayette screamed, slamming the door shut behind him and kneeling on the floor, taking Alex into his arms to stop the shaking. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I _forgot them_ . I was sitting in the kitchen, trying to remember them, and no matter how hard I tried I could only see their _faces_ , I didn't know their voices or their _names_ or what they were to me! I couldn't remember anything! It's all fading away, my life from before, I'm forgetting who I was."  
  
Lafayette shushed him. "Who did you forget, Alex?"  
  
"J-John! John and Eliza. I forgot my _children_ , and my mother and Washington, everyone from before I became this. I don't want to lose them again! I can't lose them again," he sobbed, crying into Lafayette's chest.  
  
That night Alex was unhinged. He ended up killing two people and almost killing a third, pupils blown as Lafayette dragged him away and locked him in their room, to stop him from drinking anymore before he went mad. Martha warned him about this, when she was here, warned him that if he didn't control his thirst, this could happen. An uncontrollable bloodlust, eternally unsatisfied, dangerous and all consuming.   
  
"That's not what's going to happen to me," he muttered. "I just wanted to remember, I'm sorry I scared you so much. It's not going to happen again, I promise."  
  
Lafayette was too in love with him to notice he was lying.  
  
He came into their room one night, day thirty-two, to find Alex naked, not an upsetting sight, and standing in front of an open window. Lafayette walked up behind him, setting one hand on his shoulder as soft as he could.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Alex jumped, turned and smiled. "Nothing, I just missed this, the feeling of the sun on my skin. I almost forgot what it felt like. How did you learn how to make these?" He twirled his ring on his finger before taking Lafayette's hand and viewing his, matching up the sun and the moon before dropping their hands altogether.  
  
"A friend showed me," he answered, and Alex nodded. He didn't know many of the people in the house, so he'd given up on matching names he didn't know to faces he'd never seen before.  
  
"Oh, that's nice. Could you teach me how to do it? Or how to light candles and put them out how you do?"  
  
Lafayette snorted, curling their fingers over the group of candles they kept by their bed. They all lit at once, Alex still gasping like he's seeing it for the first time.  
  
"This?" He waved his hand back over it and they all went out, smoke curling from them.  
  
"Yes! I want to learn. I don't like being a novice in any field that I can improve in." He leaned into Lafayette a little more, smirk on his face.  
  
"Fine, we start tomorrow."  
  
" _Thank you_ ."  
  
"I love you," Lafayette whispered after a moment of silence, for the first time in a long time. He meant it, could've said it every day since the first time Lafayette realized and he'd have always meant it.  
  
Alex tensed against him for a second before relaxing. "I love you too."  
  
"Now," he kissed the side of his head, "put some clothes on, who knows who could walk by the window."  
  
"Jealous, are we?" Alex joked, hissing as Lafayette bit hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to sink in.  
  
"Get dressed."  
  
Lafayette spent the rest of the day with Alex in the parlor, sitting next to each other as Alex read and Lafayette listed all of the things Martha taught him that he'd pass onto Alex.  
  
The next morning, Lafayette woke to Alex lying next to him on his stomach, fangs stuck in the pillow he slept on. His skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, the blankets pooled at his waist. He was so beautiful, Lafayette could spend forever admiring him just like this.  
  
Alex stirred in his sleep and Lafayette kissed down the notches of his spine, letting his teeth drag and tickle him. Alex laughed and twisted to face them, the pillow still attached to his face by his fangs before he pulled it off.  
  
"Good morning," Alex groans as Lafayette rubs his sides.  
  
"Hello. You start training today, you need to get up early."  
  
Alex looked out the window. "It's only six o'clock, we have _time_ ."  
  
"Starting early means we can get more done."  
  
"Exactly," Alex agreed as he rolled onto his back. "We can _more_ than _just_ training done. Besides, our clothes are already off."  
  
Who was Lafayette to disagree with such logic?  
  
Alex led them out at seven after marking his tally sheet, smiling as everyone in the house passed and greeted them, finally including Alex when they did this. Perhaps out of fear of Alex, out of disgust that Lafayette kept him around after killing two of their human friends.  
  
If Lafayette had to pick a word to describe the two of them, he'd say _lovers_ , but the rest of the house would call them a _partnership_ . Lafayette didn't know why, wasn't ashamed in correcting them when they did, liked watching the discomfort settle on their faces. Affairs like theirs were all fun and games inside the parties and in the night that followed, but come morning there was a stiff awkwardness regarding them, one that Lafayette found better to ignore at this point.  
  
They took their breakfast alone in the dining room, everyone clearing out once they came in. Lafayette barely ate, but Alex wiped his plate clean. Whether it was from a human habit or the fact that he hadn't fed in two days, Lafayette didn't know.  
  
"I know it may seem stupid to ask now, but where is your wife?" Alex drank water from a wine glass and set it back down on the table.  
  
Lafayette coughed. "Why do you want to know that?"  
  
"Well, if she is in France waiting for you, there is going to be a day where you return to her, right?"  
  
"She, uhm, she passed on a while ago. She is not waiting for me in France."  
  
Alex slumped in his chair. "Oh. I'm sorry."  
  
"You did nothing wrong. Asking about Adrienne is not an offense to me, it just requires strength to talk about."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Your Eliza is making a stride for you, though, preserving your legacy."  
  
Alex grinned, eyes bright. "She's still as wonderful as ever."

"Why aren't you with her now? I'm sure if you'd explained what happened, she would have found a way to make sure you could continue as you were."  
  
"I can't say," Alex muttered, scratching at his wrist, right over the black _A_ tattoo he had there. Lafayette didn't pry further.  
  
Alex picked up on things as he always did, quickly and with rapt enthusiasm.  
  
He mastered the candle trick in mere minutes, wanting to learn that one first as he thought it was most useful. He already knew how to drink people without killing them, but his knowledge on killing other people was sparse. The second Lafayette taught him how to channel his strength into one thing, he lifted him above his head like Lafayette was no lighter than a paperweight, laughing as Lafayette screeched above him. People rushed in to see what happened, mortified at what they saw.  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Lafayette laughed Alex carried him around the room. Louise glared between the two of them before huffing and sauntering away.  
  
"I don't think she likes me," Alex told Lafayette as he set him down on the ground. His face was flushed, all across his nose and cheeks all the way to his ears.  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"No, but it would be nice if people loved me as much as they love you. They practically worship you."  
  
Lafayette snorted at that. "They do not. This is my house that I let them live in, a lot of them are just trying to stay on my good side because they think I'm going to throw them out if they cross me."  
  
"Would you throw them out?"  
  
He shrugged. "Probably not, unless they did something like turn us over to people who will kill us or hurt you."  
  
"Me?" Alex spluttered, spinning them slowly in a circle around the room. Lafayette pulled him closer, clasping their hands together. It was ballroom dancing in the laziest form, and he loved it.  
  
"Of course. You are, automatically, the most important person here. If anything happened to you I don't know how I'd live."  
  
Alex kissed him, slow and sweet, enough to stop their spinning around the room as Lafayette grabbed his waist and Alex wrapped his arms around Lafayette's neck. This was gentler than the kisses they'd shared before, their hands simply resting, not roaming looking for more, satisfied to just stop for a moment and be with each other.  
  
Letting Alex into the softest recess of Lafayette's heart was never something either of them expected to happen. Lafayette kept their doors locked, walls up, but Alex walked right in like none of that mattered and stole his own spot in their affections. He couldn't deny it for a second that he wasn't scared of how much Alex meant to him. He already lost him once, to lose him again would be hell on earth.  
  
"I need to teach you about your weaknesses," Lafayette reminded, an empty attempt to keep them on track.  
  
Alex hummed. "Like what? What weaknesses could I possibly have that I didn't before?"  
  
"Things like silver and the _sun_ , for a start."  
  
"You are my only weakness." Alex beamed and kissed the underside of Lafayette's jaw, nuzzling into his neck. Lafayette laughed, pulled himself away.  
  
"You are very wrong."  
  
Training ended quickly after that, Alex not paying much attention to the things that could torture or kill him, instead playing with the ends of Lafayette's hair and making flirtatious comments as much as he could. Lafayette indulged him, held him close while they went back to dancing, slow spins around the room.  
  
"Hey, do you want to play cards?" Alex mumbled into Lafayette's chest. "We could play that game we used to play during the war-"  
  
"The one you used to cheat at to get me riled up?"  
  
Alex chuckled. "Maybe."  
  
"Fine, but we're playing in our room."  
  
It was so quiet that Lafayette might have imagined it, but he swore he could hear Alex repeat the words " _our room_ " as they walked back down the hallway.  
  
The rest of the house left them unbothered for the rest of the day, finding other things to entertain themselves with instead of pestering Lafayette. He thanked them silently, as Alexander pulled out a deck of cards from Lafayette's desk drawer and sat with Lafayette in their bed, stripped down to only his nightshirt.  
  
"This reminds me of those days in the war, when nothing would happen and everything would slow down," Alex starts, looking at his cards. "When we had no battles to fight and the war seemed far away from our tent, with John and Hercules, playing cards and swimming in the river. The times when me, you, and John would wake up outside, underneath the stars, and talk for hours like the war didn't matter. I like it."  
  
"I'm glad," Lafayette said, leaning and kissing his temple. Alex turned his cards away so Lafayette couldn't cheat, face red and embarrassed for sharing something so personal with him so bluntly.  
  
Card games ended how they always used to, with yelling and laughing and collapsing into bed together. Usually that wasn't the end of the night, but as Lafayette fell asleep with Alex pressed against him, he realized it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He kissed the back of Alex's neck and listened to the sound of his quiet breathing.  
  
Being with Alexander now felt like the few quiet days with Adrienne when they were younger, in the early days of their marriage when they were naive and childless, of the quiet days when war still called to him but she kept him home. The sun passing over them slow, like it only wished to give them more time. The companionship of two people soon to miss one another and the hope that they will never have to be apart.  
  
When Lafayette woke the next morning, Alexander was gone, and the scent of blood flooded his senses instantly. Nobody threw parties in the morning as a general rule, not wanting to get caught hunting in daylight and risk being killed, but today was different. Today had Alexander all over it, Lafayette could sense it. The unmistakable _smell_ of Alex, the one that marked everything in their room, traveled down the hallway and mixed with the blood, binding them together.  
  
He stumbled into the parlor, saw Alex dig into the human man that took Marie's place in watching the door after she got _too scared_ , as she put it. More like started sleeping with two other house guests and didn't want to admit she'd rather spend mornings with them than at the door watching for nothing.  
  
The man's mouth opened wide in a silent scream, blood dripping from where Alex's mouth failed to catch it. He grasped at another body, a woman who was already dead, her skin pallid and cold as she pleaded to a god who had already taken her. He shook her, asking for help, not realizing, not noticing. He reached out as his skin became a tinted gray, the light draining from his eyes as the blood drained from the rest of his body.  
  
Most of the bodies surrounding Alexander we dead already, Lafayette noticed, and the ones that were alive lay trapped under the corpses of the ones Alex drained before them. They didn't move, didn't try to crawl out, watching the ceiling with flat mouths and blank faces. Alex compelled them, none of them could escape, even if they wanted to.   
  
He glanced up when Lafayette walked in before pulling off, dropping the empty body and letting it tumble to the floor. "Good morning, love," he breathed, voice wrecked as he groaned, licking the blood from his lips. Lafayette swallowed, resisting the urge to feed and the almost stronger urge take Alexander to bed. He had such weird interests.  
  
"Good morning. What are you doing?"  
  
"I haven't fed in two days," he replied. "If I don't feed, I don't remember. Last night, all those things I said to you, I thought it was really nice. It took me twenty minutes to figure out I didn't remember who John or Hercules were, and I barely remember you from back then."  
  
He picked another person from the mass of bodies below him. "I need this, I wouldn't do it if I didn't." He turned the woman he chose, sweeping his hand over her neck. "You can join if you want."  
  
"No, no. I'll go eat breakfast now, if you don't mind. Feel free to carry on with this." Lafayette turned on his heel and went into the kitchen, flinching when the woman screamed as Alex's fangs pierced her skin.  
  
Alex killed twenty-three people that morning, and at the end he was still _thirsty_ .  
  
Lafayette stared at him, hunched over and panting, bright red blood covering every inch of his skin and clothes, soaking and drying in his hair. It covered the floor, pooling around the corpses, gaunt and open mouthed, pale and sunken in eyes that still cried for help even in death. Alex smeared blood on their skin with his hands, checking to see if at least one of them was still alive so he could feed.  
  
"What did you _do_ ?" Lafayette questioned, hands shaking as he braced himself against the door.  
  
"It feels so _good_ , Lafayette! I don't know how you don't do this everyday, just take and take and _take_ until you're sated."  
  
"I can control my thirst, Alexander. A skill that you certainly do not have." He sighed. "How could you do this?"  
  
" _I'm strong enough to!_ I am more powerful than almost everyone here and I never _use_ it. You and me could conquer the world, don't you see that?" He stood up and grabbed Lafayette by the neck. "We could be _fantastic_ ."  
  
"I don't want that Alexander, I never wanted that. You can't do this, I can't just _let_ you do this."  
  
Alex squinted and craned his neck closer. "What are you going to do to stop me?"  
  
Tears poured down his cheeks as he held Alex's jaw, snapping his neck and watching the emotion drain from his eyes.  
  
It took three witches that lived in the house to help conjure a prison underneath the house, somewhere they could keep Alex so he couldn't get out. Alex woke up twice during the spell, screaming the second he heard the chanting before Lafayette snapped his neck again, listening to the incantation as the underground caved in and walls burst from below them.  
  
"You don't have to do this," Alex whispered as Lafayette locked him into the chains attached to the wall, blood still covering him. Lafayette would come down later and help wash it all off, but now wasn't the time. Now was only for preventing another massacre like the one being cleaned up above them, as graves were dug and wondering whether or not they needed to put cloaking spells on the house to prevent it from being attacked.  
  
"You killed over twenty people, Alex. I'm doing this for the rest of the house, not for me." He ignored the dried tears on Alexander's face and the free flowing on his own.  
  
Alex pulled at the chains, saw as they pulled out of the wall but stayed connected by a magnetic force pulling him back. Lafayette nodded and stood to leave the small cell, trying to defy the need to let Alexander go and pull him into his arms, forget this ever happened and to let it happen again and again and again.  
  
"You're just like Angelica," Alex whispered, Lafayette stopped.  
  
"What?"  
  
" _Angelica_ , Schuyler, she was the one who turned me," he sobbed. "She kept me hidden in her basement and let everyone mourned me, she was the only one that knew I was alive."  
  
"Alex-"  
  
Eighty-three days! Eighty-three days she had me trapped, starving most of the time, alone and angry. I killed myself, but I always woke up, she killed me, and still I wouldn't die. I stood in the sun, the only thing I knew would kill me for good, and she deprived me of my own death," he screamed, struggling.  
  
"The only person who ever tried to make what I am a good thing was John, but John is dead again! He's dead and I don't know why and I can't bring him back! He's not coming back this time." More tears fell down his face, curling up on himself.  
  
"John has been dead for decades, Alex. He was dead long before you turned. Lafayette crouched in front of Alexander, eyebrows furrowed. Alex laughed without humor, lifeless, shaking his head.  
  
"No, no, no. Eliza brought him back to life when he died and told him he couldn't, that he couldn't see me or else he would die. I didn't realize until after he died what Eliza did, the curse she put on him, but when I did, I burned everything. I burned John's body and the camp he lived in, I burned books and the cot we slept in. Half of the forest turned to ash before morning came."  
  
Lafayette didn't speak, couldn't find what to say. Alex spoke like this was real, like this happened, but John was dead and buried, and Angelica and Eliza were human. Angelica was alive and Eliza never knew John in the first place, let alone enough to bring him back to life.  
  
"I killed Angelica. You know that, right?" Alex rasped. "After eighty-three days stuck in her prison, I drained her and left her for dead and escaped."  
  
Lafayette shook their head. "Angelica isn't dead. She's alive now, at home, with her family. She's human. Eliza is too, they can't charm anyone or bring anyone back to life. I'm so sorry, Alexander, but none of this happened. None of what you're saying is true.."  
  
"What do you know?" Alex screamed. "You weren't there! You don't know! I didn't even know until I killed all of those people! I couldn't remember any of this, and when I do, you're going to tell me I'm lying? You've been gone for years, Lafayette, you don't _know_ what happened when you were gone! You don't know!"  
  
Lafayette grabbed Alexander as he thrashed in his hold, hands firm on either side of his jaw. Alex tried to break away, to resist him, but Lafayette was stronger, more controlled than Alexander, who threw his anger and strength around carelessly.  
  
"Alex, repeat after me. John is dead, he's been dead for twenty-four years. Eliza, your wife, who you love dearly, did not bring John back. Angelica, your sister-in-law did not turn you, and she couldn't have turned you, because she is human, and she is still alive."  
  
"Well then, how do you suppose I got this way?" He bared his fangs and hissed, laughing as Lafayette flinched.  
  
"I don't know, but I've met Angelica, she can't be-"  
  
"Are you really going to believe Angelica, who you haven't seen in _years_ , rather than me?"  
  
"Alexander, I-"  
  
He writhed in his chains, still trying to escape. "You said you loved me! You told me that you-! Was that a lie?"  
  
"No, _no_ ," Lafayette choked, tears streaming down his face now. "I'm doing this _because_ I love you. I can't watch you kill anyone else, not anymore. Not after today."  
  
"I have to!" he screamed. "I have to to remember! I've spent six hundred sixty-seven days on this miserable planet as this disgusting creature! My memories are the only things that keep me from my permanent death. John and Eliza and remember what Angelica did to me are the things that keep me tethered to this world! I have to drink to remember, I can't forget them!"  
  
Lafayette couldn't stand to hear anymore. Bounding up the stairs and past Marie, Louise, and Yolande, he grabbed his cloak and out of the door, rushing to the village to find out where he could steal a horse.  
  
He sat tense across from Martha in the parlor, the bright blue walls that were once comforting now setting him on edge. She poured them both a cup of tea, but Lafayette felt too sick to drink any of it, instead letting it sit and freeze.  
  
"Now, explain it to me again. _Slower_ this time, so I can understand the words you're saying."  
  
Lafayette sighed. "It's about Alex. The longer he lives like we do, how we _are_ , the more he forgets who he was before this. If he doesn't feed for a while, two days even, he doesn't remember who Eliza, or John, or anybody is before he turned. It drives him to madness, to killing. There's a massacre being cleaned up in my parlor, twenty-three people dead."  
  
Martha set her teacup down on the table, eyes wide. "Where is he now?"  
  
"I had three witches in my house conjure a false prison for him and then they forged the chains that hold him. He's trying to escape, even now, he doesn't understand that he can't, or that he won't. He doesn't understand that magic is more powerful than he can comprehend, he doesn't-"  
  
"Lafayette, dear," she reached and took his hand, "I know this is hard for you, but you have to be strong. Right now, Alexander is dealing with something beyond his control, and he's reactions are normal for someone who _always_ had control over everything in his life. I sent you letters following his political career, the scandal with that Reynolds girl."  
  
"Please, don't remind me."  
  
"My point is, he needs to feel control, and forgetting his family and friends is making him lose that. Stay the night tonight, to clear your thoughts, and George will go back with you tomorrow. He is better than I am at these kinds of things."  
  
"I haven't seen Washington in years," Lafayette breathed, glancing up at her. "Is he-?"  
  
Martha shook her head. "No, he is like me. Immortal by our own wish, to allow ourselves a calm few decades before we finally go to rest."  
  
"That's lovely, to die with the person you love the moment you choose."  
  
She offered a small smile, one of condolence and understanding, and walked him to his bedroom for the night. Martha kissed him on both cheeks and went off to find George and convince him to sleep, leaving Lafayette in the room that he'd been gone from for so long.  
  
Sleep did not reach Lafayette easily. He lay tossing and turning for hours, mulling over everything Alexander told him and how much he could believe. Why would Alexander lie? Thirty-four days passed between them and he'd never lied, but then again Lafayette never asked, never suspected anything. He never cared that Alexander might be lying, just that he was alive and Lafayette had him back, nothing else mattered until _now_ , when over twenty people were dead by Alex's hand.  
  
What he said couldn't be true, could it? Eliza and Angelica witches, John living decades after they all thought him dead, Eliza bringing him back to life. Angelica torturing Alexander, starving him, leaving him for dead until he ended up killing her. None of that could be true. Eliza and Angelica were human, John never died a second time, Angelica was alive.  
  
Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag yourself I'm this being 9k words long and making no sense At All!!!! and is generally gross and awful


	5. the kind of drought that heals

Alexander felt the wet soil soak into his clothes as he rolled on the floor of his new prison, the thick metal cuffs still locked around his wrists as he tried to find his way around them. The witches had stopped their chanting and Lafayette was gone, leaving Alexander in a dark cell with no way out. There wasn't even a way to see out, no way to count the days or mark the tallies.  
  
Thirty-four days. It'd been thirty-four days with Lafayette before this happened. Thirty-four days of nothing but love from Lafayette and the almost naive sense of trust, absolute and definite, that he placed in Alexander that he lost in just one morning. The forgiveness he was still willing to show him after Alex killed two of his friends, the forgiveness he implied after Alex killed twenty-three people he didn't know.  
  
Lafayette loved Alexander too much, or maybe he didn't love Lafayette enough.  
  
It was too hard to get comfortable enough to sleep, Alexander missing the bed he'd gotten so used to and the chains holding his arms up in a way that made his shoulders and back ache if he tried to relax, so he stayed awake. It could have been days, or hours, or minutes, before the witches began their chanting and reopened the prison, Alexander could no longer tell.  
  
"..but then yesterday, when I locked him down here, he started telling me this _story_ , about things like meeting _John_ . John Laurens, do you remember him?"  
  
"Laurens, yes, he was a fine soldier. His loss was truly one that defined the worst parts of war."  
  
Lafayette was slow to respond to Washington. "Yes, it was. He thinks Eliza brought him back to life shortly after he died, and that he was living in the forest for _decades_ before they met, and that Eliza cursed him to die once they met again. He said that he killed Angelica because she tortured him in a basement for eighty-some days, but Angelica isn't dead, right? Do you know?"  
  
Alex could _feel_ Washington nod. "She was the first in a string of murders that started in the city and ended up in Charleston."  
  
"Oh, my god."  
  
"I suspected Alexander, the date of his death just months before and the details Mrs. Hamilton gave me in a letter she sent connected certain specifics, but the concept of your kind is still a foreign one. I couldn't be certain."  
  
" _Our kind_ ," Lafayette laughed, "like you are not a witch."  
  
The flirtatious energy between them lit a burning fire in the pit of Alexander's chest. He _loathed_ it, how he could almost feel their warm gratitude at reuniting with each other, the lust pooling in the pits of their stomachs. He could see the lingering glances and the blush that covered Lafayette's skin like it always did when someone was sweet to him. God, it killed him. He hated that it killed him.  
  
Washington looked the same as he always had, determined in every step he took. He seemed to leer over Alexander from the other side of the cell's bars, his tall frame appearing monumental as he peered inside. Alex curled in on himself, tried to escape their gaze as they glared at him, not saying a word. Lafayette's cheeks were pink as he stood too close to Washington.  
  
"Hello, Alex," Washington finally managed to say. His voice was quiet, as though he could not believe his eyes.  
  
Alex nodded. "Washington. Why are you here?"  
  
"To help you. Lafayette told me, about the memory loss and the bloodlust. I'm sorry that this is happening to you, but I'm going to take you to a home I have, where I'm going to help you. It won't be easy to get through, but it will be worth it."  
  
"Let me talk to Lafayette," Alex demanded, trying to sound mean.  
  
Washington nodded and switched places with Lafayette, who was crying again. He took Alex's face in his hands and kissed his forehead.  
  
"I'm so sorry, my love."  
  
"Lafayette, you have to let me go. You have to free me."  
  
He shook his head. "I _can't_ , Alexander. I love you, bu-"  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't love me!" he spit, making Lafayette flinch away. "You can't love me and keep me here at the same time!"  
  
"I love you more than I have ever loved another person in my life," Lafayette whispered.  
  
"You had a wife!" He screamed. "You had a wife, and I was your _pastime_ during the war until you could go home to her. You never cared about me. Even now, I'm your little secret and you hide me away from the rest of the house like you own personal _whore_ . I felt starved being with you, you kept me from feeding, you distracted me by lying to me and now you're upset because I broke free and you can't control me anymore."  
  
Lafayette stepped back, mortified. Alex glared at him, strained against his chains one more time. He wanted to get _free_ , he would do anything to get free. If he had to break Lafayette's heart, then so be it.  
  
"I didn't hide you away," Lafayette choked, "I kept you as close I could to me, because I would rather die, _permanently_ , than lose you a second time, a third time. Leaving you after war was one of the hardest things I ever had to _do_ , Alexander. Don't you understand that? That every day I went without seeing you was a day I dreamed about getting to meet you again, to love you again? I love you dearly, everyone in this house knows that. Do you really believe the things you're saying?"  
  
"Somebody has to," Alex said.  
  
Washington interrupted them, laying a soft hand on Lafayette's shoulder and leading him out of the cell. Alex's stomach lurched.  
  
"Be careful, or he might sleep with you too to keep you from what you really want."  
  
Lafayette's eyes burned holes into him as he finally snapped, stomping back over and snapping Alexander's neck, plunging him into a world of darkness.  
  
Alex woke up on a horse, head leaning on Washington's back as they trotted slowly through the woods, afternoon beaming in his eyes. He lifted his head up and blinked to adjust to the light, wondering how he managed to balance while asleep. He tried to adjust his position but his legs wouldn't move, neither would his arms. He grumbled and Washington sat up straighter, letting him go.  
  
"Who's Eliza, Alexander?" Washington questioned as Alex rubbed at his eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Who is _Eliza_ . It's not a trick, just answer."  
  
"Eliza was my wife. I loved her. I _love_ her, still."  
  
"Good. What happened to her?"  
  
Alex could hear animals moving through the forest, could sense the village twenty-five miles west. "Nothing, nothing happened to her. I died, and I had to leave her, because Angelica-"  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
"Her sister, my sister-in-law. She turned me the night that I died, and then hid me in her basement and rarely fed me. I don't remember much of it. I was there for eighty-three days. Eliza-"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Alex sighed. "Eliza, _my wife,_ would visit sometimes, and I would crave her blood like nothing else. Angelica, my, my sister-in-law, would know. She'd read my thoughts, and punish me for wanting to hurt her sister more than I already have. She'd starve me and leave me for dead, until one day I couldn't take it anymore, so I killed her on the eighty-third day. I ran south and killed thirty-seven people in thirty-seven days."  
  
"Do you know their names?" Washington turned onto a stone path, the horse's hooves clapping against them.  
  
"No. I just took and took until I found John."  
  
"John died twenty-four years ago, Alexander."  
  
Alex inhaled sharply. "John was alive! I know he was."  
  
"Okay, I believe you. Who was John?"  
  
"I, he was my friend."  
  
Washington laughed, causing a spike of panic to shoot through Alexander's chest. "I'm not a child, Alexander, I was aware of your relationship with Laurens." He looked straight ahead as he added, "Lafayette also had some things to say about you, both during the revolution and now, that would imply certain arrangements."  
  
Alex stared at the man's back, incredulous that he could be so blunt while still dancing around a subject. He took a deep breath.  
  
"John and I were _lovers_ , of sorts. I loved him like I loved Eliza, and he loved me like he should have his wife. He died, and Lafayette was right. When I lost him, I lost a piece of myself, too. Then, after thirty-seven days of walking, I found him again."  
  
"How did he live? Was he in a house?"  
  
"God, no. He lived in a canvas tent and ate little animals for every meal and lived on the river he died next to, which would end up being the river he died next to for the second and final time. He had an _E_ tattoo on his arm, like the _A_ on mine, because Angelica brought me back." He showed Washington the tattoo, who nodded like he'd seen it before. "Eliza brought him back, then cursed him. If we met again, he'd die. He didn't tell me about the curse, he kept it a secret. I found out on my own after he died."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"I burned the tent he lived in, his belongings, his body. Everything. I was with him for two days. I didn't burn it until two more days after."  
  
"And then-?"  
  
"I walked. I walked and fed and lived for five hundred and eight days. I tried to burn my tattoo off of my arm, but it kept healing. I thought about John, Eliza, and my children. I missed them, I still do, and knowing I can't go back to them is more painful than when I died."  
  
"This is good, Alex. You're remembering things as I ask about them, because you _search_ for the answer once you hear a question. If you simply think about them, sometimes you can't remember, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Because there is no need to find that information. Now, because I'm asking, you are actively seeking it out. You'll do this until you can do it without needing me to ask questions. Try to pick something else out when you talk about these people, anything about them to help you remember."  
  
Alex nodded as they approached a house, dark brick with a wooden porch surrounded by a thick bundle of trees that blocked it off from the rest of the world. It was nice, he could hear laughter and glasses clinking together as they approached, the jovial feeling of a family comfortable with one another.  
  
"What happened after? How did you find Lafayette?"  
  
"After John, I turned and worked my way back up. I could smell the blood for miles, all that _blood_ . I found Lafayette and things kind of _happened_ , and I loved him, and I _love_ him. I remember all those things I said to him only hours ago. I didn't mean a word of it _._ Lafayette offered me more kindness my first night in his house than most people did after they'd known me for years. I walked into his house and, immediately, he took me in. He loved me in a way I almost forgot was possible."  
  
"That's very nice, Alexander, that's good. Go on."  
  
"He gives me _hope_ . Lafayette makes me feel like I'll get to be with Eliza again, reminds me of John and how much I loved him. He reminds me that even after the war, even after I died, there was someone who would take me in, no curse putting a timestamp on the love we shared."  
  
He found himself blushing, then scolding himself for it after the way he treated the man he loved, after Lafayette had done nothing but care for and love him. Alexander drove Lafayette to kill him, even if it was only temporary, and then send him away without so much as a goodbye. He didn't deserve that, nobody deserved to be doubted in their love for someone, but now it was too late for Alex to take it all back.  
  
"Your house is very beautiful," Alex commented once he was invited inside, admiring the bright colors of the walls and the lovely wooden floors that creaked as he walked. The people he heard before were gone now, but he could hear them not far from here, hushed whispers and muffled giggling.  
  
Washington smiled at him, nodded once. "Thank you. Martha and I decorated it, trying to give the people we bring here a sense of calm."  
  
"People like me?"  
  
"Yes, people like you."  
  
Alex huffed, walked around the entryway before plopping down on the stairs. "I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing here. You claimed I had an _insatiable_ bloodlust, but right now I feel fine."  
  
"I know you do, but the second you get one drop of blood on your tongue, you'll go mad with it, searching for anything and anything with a beating heart and draining it until it stops." He flourished his hand out in front of him, casting some sort of spell, but Alexander didn't know the effect it took.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"That's why we're going to let you feed, far less than what you've consumed in the past two days, but enough to keep you alive and moving. I've sealed the doors and windows, locking you in here until you can handle your allowance without trying to escape to find more of it."  
  
"So I'm assuming nobody in the house is human?"  
  
"They are not. Aside from the three very powerful witches that live here, four now including myself, they are all like you."  
  
"Alright. That'll make things easier, I suppose, but worse for me."  
  
"You're here to get better, not to indulge yourself until you're drunk and addicted."  
  
"I want to see Lafayette again."  
  
Washington grinned. "And you will. Now, go upstairs and I'll show you to your room. You can get some rest before we begin, maybe bathe since you are covered in dirt.  
  
The smooth surface of the bed felt like heaven on Alexander's skin, his damp skin warm under the covers, a delightful contrast from the wet ground he sat on in Lafayette's prison and the horse he rode here, not to mention the hardwood of the stairs before he ran up them. He sunk in, already asleep the second he hit the mattress, eyes fluttering shut and lending himself, temporarily, to dreams.  
  
He woke up around six judging by the sun, almost tucked under the horizon but still full in the sky. The blankets wrapped around his limbs, catching him in a tangle of fabric it took a while to get out of, twisting and turning until he managed to escape from his prison, tumbling onto the floor with a thud.  
  
"Are you alright?" A woman asked, and Alex screamed, pulling a sheet over him from the bed as he turned to face her.  
  
"How long have you been here?" He yelled.  
  
She stood in the doorway to his room, her grin struggling to stay hidden on her face as she took in his undressed state, hair hanging long across his eyes and face, naked and clutching a thin sheet to his chest to help try and save his dignity. She bit her lip, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, unable to answer his question or say what she was here for.  
  
"I'm here to drop off your clothes," she explained, still giggling, "as the ones you came here with are dirty and will be washed soon. Get dressed and then come downstairs, Washington is waiting, he told me to tell you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I'm Jane, by the way, one of the witches that lives here."  
  
"Alexander Hamilton."  
  
"Nice to meet you," she said, her eyes gleaming as she struggled not to smile again, nodding and closing the door behind her as she left.  
  
Alex looked around the room, took in the desk and armoire, the bed and curtains the blew as the wind swept in, giving Alex chills as he sat there, still naked. The inkpot on the desk was filled, and there was blank parchment stacked up in a neat pile, two new quills set next to it. It was the perfect place for him to be trapped, so nice that he might even forget he couldn't leave.  
  
He took the quill and dipped it into the ink, writing the number of days in the top lefthand corner before putting one neat tally mark on the page.  
  
A good start. A new start.  
  
He got dressed and ran down the stairs, where he was ambushed by two women who sat him in a chair in the parlor and tied him down with twine. Washington sat on a sofa in front of him, a notebook on his lap and a quill stood upright on the page, waiting. The women vanished as soon as they came, into an empty hallway and a silent house.  
  
"Alexander," he began, "who is Eliza?"  
  
Alex sighed. "My wife. Eliza is my wife."  
  
"No, you're dead."  
  
"Right. She _was_ my wife."  
  
He had Alexander repeat the story twenty times before he could be untied, then one more time as he paced through the room. Recalling memories was easy, applying them to how he felt when they happened was difficult, required digging into things he didn't know that much about and figuring out _everything_ he was missing, fine details and minute emotions.  
  
"You're doing good, I just have one more question."  
  
"Can I eat after this? Or feed? Anything?" He pleaded, furrowing his eyebrows.  
  
"Yes, dinner is soon, and then you'll get your allowance. Now, Alex-"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"I'm, I'm-" he paused. "What?"  
  
"How old are you?" He repeated, smirking at his paper.  
  
"I was forty-nine when I died. That was six hundred and sixty-eight days ago, almost two years. I'm fifty-one."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Yes, great, can I eat now?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
The mirage fell and people bustled throughout the house, conversation loud and bubbling as it carried throughout the rooms, coming alive in front of his eyes. Washington glanced at them all with a fond reverence, like one would his own child. Perhaps that's what Washington saw in these people that he helped counsel and help, his children.  
  
"Let's go," he instructed, guiding Alex to the dining room where they were all gathering, a table of food laid out, so much so that the plates barely fit.  
  
Everyone greeted him kindly, teasing him about how meeting Jane went for the first time. They spoke as they ate, some recognized him, others didn't, but they were all welcoming either way, laughing and talking and sharing stories of their past with him. Washington stayed quiet most of the evening, content to listen and watch, overjoyed that his "children" were so happy there, and so willing to invite Alexander into their happiness.  
  
The company was nice, but Alex felt himself drift off multiple times over the course of dinner, thinking about Lafayette and what he's doing right now at home with everyone else. He wondered if they rallied together around him to comfort him after Alexander left, or if they simply returned to life as normal. Hell, they might've even thrown a party, they never liked him much.  
  
"So, Alexander, what do you think of the house? How's your room?"  
  
He snapped back to reality and carried on conversation as normal, but he didn't miss Washington staring at him, concerned in a way he _knew_ he'd be admitting later.  
  
That night, Washington led him to the basement and handed him two vials filled with blood, pulling the corks out one at a time. Alex felt a rush just from the smell, his skin itching as he reached for it, snatching it out of Washington's hand and drinking them down in a quick succession. Washington breathed in, waiting expectantly, for Alex to attempt to flee the grounds in search of new blood to drink.  
  
"I need more, I, I have to-"  
  
"This is your allowance," he interrupted. "You will learn to live on this until you are comfortable, and then you'll be moved down to one vial. Sometimes you'll have days where I give you more, to see if you can handle it. Once you can, you'll stay for a few months on that regimen until you're cleared. Then you can leave, or stay here, your choice."  
  
"When can I see Lafayette again?" Alex asked, straining to stay still when the stairs were _right there_ . If he ran it was a mere few feet away before he was out, even if the house was enchanted, he'd fight as hard as he could to break through.  
  
"When I'm sure you can be around the crowd there, and the parties, without killing twenty-three people."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I'm going to lock you in your room after this, just to be sure."  
  
Alex would've protested, if not for the thought of Lafayette burning in his mind. "Okay."  
  
Alex fell into routine in the house quickly. Wake up at six, eat breakfast with the rest of the house. After breakfast he could do whatever he wanted, which wasn't much considering he couldn't go _outside_ , but he found ways to occupy his time. He read books in the parlor after eating, then played chess or card games with Jane before lunch. They all ate together, then he would help Jane's sister, Elizabeth, with her sewing as she mended their brother's suit that never seemed to be finished, even after the two months Alex spent there already.  
  
On the second anniversary of his death, day sixty-two, Alexander drank four vials of blood as a sad sort of celebration. He chugged them down, barely aware of himself as he sped up the stairs, pushing past everyone in his way and thrashing against the magical barrier that kept him from the outside world. He _needed more_ , he didn't care who he had to kill to get it. Be it a mother, a child, god himself, nothing mattered except Alexander's thirst and his need to satisfy it.  
  
"Alex, stop!" Jane screamed, silver knife clutched in her hand. If Alexander attacked her, he could drink from her, but she might kill him, she knew how. It wasn't worth it.  
  
Washington ran up, hexing Alexander, stopping only when he fell to the ground screaming, clawing at the floor in pain. His body burned from the inside out, nerves igniting and sizzling at the ends until they exploded inside his skin, like the prick of a needle covering every available inch of him. He sobbed, begging for it to stop silently, not having the strength or mind to speak.  
  
He was locked in his room for three days because of his outburst. The first to clear the blood from his system, the second to take one vial, and the third to stabilize his thirst and adjust to the one vial allowance.  
  
"I'm sorry I acted out," Alex muttered as Washington took down the magical lock in his room.  
  
Washington didn't look at Alex, eyes closed as he held his hands in front of the transparent barrier. "It happens, Alex, and nobody is mad at you. All of them had their fair share of outbursts. They understand."  
  
Alex nodded and Washington led him out, down the stairs where everyone waited with breakfast. They were kind as they greeted him, avoiding the topic of the days prior as they laughed and made jokes about trivial things. Jane smiled at him from across the table, as an apology for holding a knife to him, as a comfort to tell him she understood. Alex reciprocated, a sorry for considering killing her, a comfort to show he was going to get better. They went back to speaking to others and laughing, their relationship formed as quick as it had broken.  
  
That night, Alex opened his eyes to find his bedroom door swinging open, nobody behind it. He felt horrible, skin itchy on sandpaper and steel wool sheets, blood humming as an imaginary ringing blared in his ears. Everything was alive, he could feel _all of it_ , vibrating like it was about to explode. He can feel the burning in his stomach, the unmistakable feeling of _thirst_ .  
  
The lamp at the end of the hallway flickered, igniting and extinguishing itself until a shadow appeared in front it, light surrounding the figure but cloaking its features in shadow. Alex blinked, the pain almost blinding him, trying to make out who it could be.  
  
"Hello?" He called out. "Who's there?"  
  
The figure appeared to be a woman, her hair long and curling down to her waist, free of decoration or ties. Her dress gleamed in the lamp light, skirt flowing in the wind that wasn't present in the house, waving as it skimmed across the bannister. She didn't speak as she stepped closer, walking into Alexander's room and closing the door behind her. Now Alex saw who she was, her face visible in the moonlight.  
  
_No_ .  
  
"Angelica?"  
  
She didn't answer him, didn't have to. Her eyes were cold and empty as she began chanting, familiar incantations, the ones from the night he turned. His blood burned and his stomach lurched, the phantom bullet wound that long disappeared dug into his side as he screamed, eyes squeezing shut before snapping open.  
  
"Please, no," he gasped, coughing as he struggled to catch his breath, teeth gritting together. She yelled over him, the windows shattering as she pushed her hands out in front of her, wind whipping around the room. Her eyes turned white, blood dripped from her nose.  
  
"You were dead! I killed you!"  
  
His breath got cut off in his throat as Angelica smiled, wicked, blood pouring down her neck from seemingly nowhere, staining her dress as Alex's world went dark around him.  
  
"Alex! Alexander!" Someone screamed over him, shaking his shoulders as he writhed in their arms. He shot up, back cracking, tears running down his cheeks as he panted. His hands shook, skin and shirt soaked with sweat, cooling in the breeze filtering through the cracks in his window. His fangs tore holes in his lower lip, but they healed.  
  
"What? What happened? Did you get her, is she gone?"  
  
Jane and Washington looked at each other from either side of the bed. "Is who gone?" Jane asked, holding one of Alex's clammy hands in hers.  
  
"A-Angelica. She was just here."  
  
"Angelica is dead, Alexander," Washington whispered.  
  
"I know, but, but she was here. She was standing in front of me and screaming, she was trying to turn me again. I don't know what would've happened if she succeeded, but, but I'm glad she didn't."  
  
"Nobody was here," Jane told him. "You were having a nightmare, we came in and you were screaming."  
  
"It's common," Washington assured.  
  
"It's hideous," Alex groaned, he held his heart over his chest, surprised to feel it beating for the first time since he turned.  
  
"I agree."  
  
It was the first nightmare of many. They all start the same way, a figure at the end of the hall, slowly approaching until they stood in front of Alexander. Angelica always tried to turn him, casted spells, or called him a monster and mocked him for being so pathetic as to get himself landed here. She would laugh and grip his face like a vice, spitting insults as he thrashed around the bed trying to get away.  
  
The first time John showed up, Alex cried before he was even in the room. The light flickered and John's eyes glowed in the dim light, his smile brightened up his bedroom and he looked so young, never got the chance to look old. He beamed at Alexander, hands held behind his back.  
  
"Please, no," Alex begged.  
  
Slowly, John grew tired. Dark circles formed under his eyes and his skin paled, his lips blanched, eyes losing their warmth and his smile falling. His hands slipped to his sides, swinging, and his pants legs became soaked with water, until it pooled around him on the floor. He stared at Alexander like he was sorry.  
  
" _John_ ." Alex reached out to him, jumping when heard the sound of gunfire when he did.  
  
John flinched and doubled over as blood covered his shirt, the same place he was shot, the same wounds that killed him both times. He screamed, clutching at his stomach as he fell to the ground, spitting more blood onto the floor, landing in the pool of water that surrounded him. He crawled on the floor to the bed.  
  
With one bloody hand, John gripped Alex's footboard and heaved himself up, covered in sweat and blood and tears pouring down his face. He crawled to Alex, smearing blood on his skin as he took his face in his hands and held him close.  
  
"You did this to me," he rasped. "You killed me both times. I'd still be _alive_ if it wasn't for you. You told me you loved me and didn't care enough to save me, you let me rot, let me _die_ ."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
John dug his hands harder into Alex's skin. "Not enough."  
  
He always snapped his neck in the end, and Alex always knew he deserved it.  
  
Eliza came into his dreams sometimes, just as the last day Alex saw her. Her hair gleamed in the light, the fine laugh lines set into her cheeks a warm reminder of how many times he was the cause of the gorgeous smile that graced her face. In their last years together it wasn't as frequent, tension in their household from Alexander's many failings, but sometimes he was lucky enough to make it happen.  
  
"Hello, Alexander," she breathed, sitting down on his bed. He cowered by his headboard, afraid that he'd kill her if they got too close. Her blood almost _sung_ to him, mouth watering at his hunger.  
  
"Hello." Tears stung his eyes.  
  
"Angelica told me, the day after she brought you back to her house, what she turned you into. I knew the whole time." Her voice didn't fit in her mouth right, didn't move with her lips right. She looked like a marionette on strings, like she wasn't in control.  
  
"No. No, you couldn't have."  
  
"Of course I could. You think Angelica would've hidden that from me, stopping me from knowing about my own husband's dreadful turning into a disgusting _monster_ ? No, I knew. She told me everything, her starving you, killing you, you trying to yourself. The _tally marks_ ." Eliza jumped back and stood, walking over to the piece of parchment with forty-six tally marks drawn on it. "You still do it even now, even after you murdered my sister and ran away. Still a prisoner even after your liberation."  
  
Alex shook his head. "I-If you knew, why wouldn't you do something? Why wouldn't you try to save me?"  
  
"You think I would trust you around my children? You're a demon, Alexander, you're not the person you used to be. You want nothing but blood, you would've slaughtered all of us. That's all you're good for, isn't it? To kill. It's all you want."  
  
"No, no!"  
  
"I knew you wanted to drink my blood. I knew you _sensed_ me. They were vile, your thoughts about me. If I wasn't so dedicated to keeping up that little game, I would've gone downstairs and killed you myself. God knows I wanted to."  
  
"You can't be Eliza, you're not her. She wouldn't, she would never say this to me, even if she meant it."  
  
Eliza smiled and Alex sobbed, coughing. Angelica appeared from behind her. Eliza's eyes widening with terror as Angelica's hands curled around her shoulders, that same wicked grin on her face. Eliza's skin turned gray and she dropped dead right in front of her. Alex cried out, reaching for her, but Angelica stopped him, hands on his shoulders as she pushed him backwards.  
  
"This is what happens when you try to get better, Alex. All you do is hurt other people. You go back to her, or Lafayette, or _anybody_ , and you're only going to kill them. They're only going to get hurt."  
  
Alex glared at her, skin burning with anger as she leered over him, unable to do anything but accept what she was telling him.  
  
"I-"  
  
"No! You don't get to argue. You hurt Eliza over and _over_ again when she was alive, and she forgave and accepted you every time! She even resurrected that little soldier boy you spent so much time with and let him live two decades past his expiration date." She stood up and backed into the center of the room. Alex got up to stand in front of her.  
  
"His name was John," he muttered. Angelica rolled her eyes.  
  
"You come back to life by my hand, and instead of learning from your past mistakes you continue to kill people, but this time it's real. You've killed so many people you don't even care, you want to do it again any chance you get, but you can't. At Lafayette's you could, but you fucked him over so hard he had to call your old war general just to get rid of you. You're a waste of time, Alexander, the fact that I gave you an unlimited amount of it to spend really shows the iron-"  
  
Alex couldn't hear anymore. He stormed over to Angelica and plunged his hand into her chest, not thinking as he ripped out her still beating heart and dropped it on the ground below him. She spluttered blood spitting out before she dropped on the floor, across from Eliza, eyes open as she saw what she'd done.  
  
Alex woke up the next morning, sun shining in his eyes. For the first time since his death, he felt his heartbeat, steady and consistent in his chest.  
  
Right after dinner and his one vial of blood on day seventy-nine, Alex bounded up the stairs and fell into bed, excited to sleep without nightmares for the first time in a long time. His sheets had been changed and they smelled like the fresh air they were dried in, and he fell asleep to the stable beating of his own heart.  
  
His bedroom door was open, oil lamp at the end of the hallway on, illuminating Lafayette standing at the other end. Alex sat up, watching as he got closer, grinning. Lafayette smiled back, rushing before coming into Alex's room and clicking the door shut behind him.  
  
"Hello, love," Lafayette whispered, pressing his forehead against his.  
  
"Lafayette," Alex choked, looking up at him. "I missed you."  
  
"I missed you too," he whispered. "I pace around the house now, worrying about how you are, how your treatment is going. I'm so sorry I brought you into that, those parties, when you weren't properly trained on how to control your thirst and how to stop when you need to. You weren't ready."  
  
Alex shook his head. "You don't have to be sorry, Lafayette, it wasn't your fault. I was reckless, I knew how much you loved me and I took advantage of it. I'm learning. Washington said one day I'll get to see you again." He pulled away. "Would you let me come see you again?"  
  
"Of _course_ I would. I hope every day that you come see me, come home to me. Every day you spend away from me is a day you're getting better, and it's a day we grow closer to meeting again. I love you, I always have and I always will, and I await the moment you return to me and I can show you how much I missed you."  
  
Alex laughed, kissed Lafayette for the first time since before he left. It was just as sweet as before, Lafayette's lips as soft and warm as before, made the longing feeling in Alex's chest disappear if only for a moment. He knew this was a dream now, but he didn't care. It _felt_ real, and that was all that mattered.  
  
He woke up after, what felt like, hours kissing Lafayette, heart still beating and lips still chasing the ghost of Lafayette's. He drew a tally mark next to the others on the paper and stood up straight.  
  
"Day eighty. It's been seven hundred and forty-seven days since Angelica, my sister-in-law, brought me back to life. After she brought me back to life, she cursed me so I would never be able to see my wife, Eliza, again. If I do, we both die. I was there for eighty-three days. I walked for thirty-seven days, and I killed thirty-seven people in the process. I was in South Carolina, one hundred and twenty days into my trip, and I found John, my old lover from the war. Eliza, my wife, cursed him, John, to die if we ever met again. Two days later he did, and I burned his body two days after that.  
  
I walked five hundred and eight days before I found Lafayette. I was with him for thirty-four days and I loved him for every single one. Seeing him again is the only point of _any_ of this. To see him again is the only reason I want to get better, and so I will, for him."  
  
He took a deep breath. "I'm going to get better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DAYS ON THIS ARE CALCULATED TO BE CORRECT BUT I MIGHT BE ONE OFF PLEASE BEAR WITH ME
> 
> also I'm too tired to edit this so !! lmAO


	6. the man and the massacre

A gala. Elegant, with silk dresses and corsets pulled tight enough to stop air from flowing through already warped ribcages of women who would much rather look beautiful than breathe. Men in suits made of the most expensive fabric they could afford, shoes gleaming in the candlelight. Laughing and glasses clinking together, gloved hands ghosting palm to palm with bare ones as people danced with one another. The energy buzzing throughout the room as the alcohol made its way into their systems, intoxicating the blood coursing through them.    
  
Two hundred people.    
  
Two hundred bodies.    
  
Blood covering every surface wall to wall.    
  
Hercules woke up on top of them, hands soaked red from the people around him. Bodies were thrown everywhere, some speared on the chandelier swinging above them, mouths open as they felt the metal impale them on their stomach. Blood covered candles fell to the floor, hot wax dripping onto silk and cotton. Pale, gray faces stared back at him, most bleeding from their necks, others with their hearts ripped out, some missing pieces of skin, muscle, bone.   
  
He staggered over the bodies trying to make it to the door, tripping over limbs as he went. He could taste blood on his tongue, in the back of his throat. He choked on it, tried to get the taste from his mouth, but found himself wanting more. He  _ craved  _ it, the metallic warm taste of it, staining his chin and hands, dried on his clothes, swaying in his stomach.    
  
Footsteps approached the ballroom, running down the hallway and appearing in the open doors. She had her hands out in front of her, chanting something. Hercules screamed, brought to his knees a an ear piercing shriek shattered the windows and rattled every bone in his body, every nerve. He could feel it burning in his bloodstream as she got closer, closing her hands over his ears until he passed out, the bodies around him and the lights above him becoming nothing but a memory.    
  
When Elizabeth and Peter dragged Hercules through the door, Alex had to admit he didn't recognize him.   
  
It had been decades since they last saw one another, when Hercules was no longer a spy and Alexander no longer a soldier. They were young then. Their experiences had not yet caught up with their looks, and their experiences together were never too terrible to discuss openly. Joking about Lafayette and John, silence passing as they mentioned Laurens and a brief conversation of how he was a good soldier, a friend dearly missed.    
  
Now, after both of them had aged and stopped and gone backwards to look younger, they met again, after Hercules had killed two hundred people and Alex was a  _ little bit  _ drunk.   
  
Jane slumped against him, a wonky smile plastering her face as she looked proudly at her two siblings while she was inebriated and unable to tag along. Alex cheered and staggered, bracing himself against the wall, giggling as he crashed into it.    
  
"Alex?" Hercules asked, and Alex snapped his head up, eyes wide.    
  
Hercules, in Alex's earlier opinions, was too soft to be in the war. He was tall, sure, and he had enough muscle to his bone to take down the entire British army singlehandedly, but he lacked the certain roughness that came with a fighter. He was a  _ tailor _ , he should stick to one craft and not try to force himself into others.    
  
"H-Hercules?" Alex hiccuped, making Jane snort. Elizabeth and Peter stopped dead in their tracks on the way to carrying him to the basement, arms tightening on his shoulders.    
  
"What are you doing here?"    
  
"I," he slurred, "live here."    
  
Then, in an act of grace and elegance, Alexander tripped on his feet and fell face first onto the floor, completely unconscious.    
  
Alex woke up on the couch in the parlor, blanket draped over him. The lamps had all been extinguished on both the first and second floors, forcing Alex to fumble his way up the stairs using only his hands and muscle memory.    
  
As he stumbled past closed doors and the hushed voices of people trying not to wake others, the sight of Jane's room almost blinded him. Light flooded out of the room, cut off halfway into the hallway as to not disturb anyone else, at the will of her spell. She spoke in hushed whispers, but the otherwise quiet house combined with Alex's heightened hearing allowed him to overhear the conversation taking place.   
  
"You have to leave!" She hissed. The ugly whining sound of her attempting to shut her window grated in Alex's ears as he pressed his back against the wall, avoiding the possibility of her seeing him.    
  
"No, Jane, please! I have nowhere else to go!" Alexander knew the voice, but he couldn't place it. It was strained, rougher, but Alex couldn't smooth it out. "Everyone is dead. Mother is dead, I escaped. I have nowhere else to go, please."   
  
"Go  _ home!  _ Didn't you promise J-"   
  
"Yes, I know I promised! I  _ want  _ to go home, but it's still too dangerous. I've been running, trying to get them off my trail, but they, they caught up. There was a party, they did something to this man, I don't know him but he's, they thought he was-" He cut himself off. "This is the only safe place I know of."   
  
"Obviously not, considering you  _ found us _ ," she muttered, then tried to close her window again.    
  
"I used the Stone to find you, nobody else on  _ earth  _ has one.  _ Please _ , Jane."   
  
She slammed her hands on the windowsill. "I am here as a helper. I  _ help  _ people with their problems. If Washington finds out what I did before this he'll-"   
  
"He won't find out!"   
  
"He is one of the most powerful witches in the  _ world _ , he's going to find out!"    
  
" _ Please _ , I just need to stay here until they give up on looking. Then I'll go home and you will never see me again."    
  
Jane stayed silent.    
  
"For your coven?"   
  
She scoffed.    
  
"For your brother."   
  
Alex felt his heart stop as Jane began chanting. He thought Peter was her only brother. He sped past her room and into his, lying in bed for hours, contemplating, before he fell into a restless sleep.    
  
Jane, Elizabeth, and Peter all sat on his bed when he woke up, crushing his legs as the waited for his eyes to fully open before they demanded an explanation as to  _ who  _ and  _ how _ and to  _ how long ago _ . Alex groaned, rolling onto his back, jostling Peter and Jane as he did.    
  
"He was my friend in the war," he explained, rubbing his eyes.    
  
Jane squinted at him. "Now, when you say friend, you mean-"   
  
" _ Friend _ . John and Lafayette were different. Hercules was the only person I told about John and Lafayette, because he could keep secrets. He was a spy, and all, he was good at those things."   
  
"Who are John and Lafayette?" Elizabeth whispered. Peter shrugged in response.    
  
Later, Alex realized, that a tailor's job required a definite sense of silence. Work that precise didn't allow room for talking; talking was a distraction that led to error, to failure. Hercules wasn't soft. He was alert and muted in his actions, sharp in a way many lacked. He was good at his job, but still remained to be kind in his personal life, had friends who loved him like a brother, loved them all just as much.    
  
Seeing Hercules the night previous, through his drunk haze, covered in blood thrashing against two of his best friends' siblings, hit him hard. His teeth were sharp like knives, eyes wild as they searched for any other drop of blood they could find. Alex saw the vicious nature he missed in their first meeting now, and he missed the kindness of the friend he once knew.    
  
"Washington wants you to help with him," Jane told him, "because you knew him."    
  
Alex sighed. "I  _ knew  _ him. I don't anymore."   
  
"He says it won't matter, that he had a  _ special  _ connection to you, and you just being there will help spark his humanity again so he can chill out."    
  
"Great, I'll be right down. Leave so I could get changed."    
  
The three of them nodded and walked out, leaving Alex to get ready for the impending encounter with a man he hoped he'd never face again, but missed at the same time.    
  
_ "So, you, John, and Lafayette?" Hercules questioned, practicing stitches on his blanket with cord they usually used to sew up wounds, trying to be nonchalant in his inquiry.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alex rolled over onto his back. "No, no. Not me, John, and Lafayette. Me and John, and then me and Lafayette. Me, John, and Lafayette would be something entirely different, but not something I'm particularly excluding from the realm of possibility," Alex said, stupid smile on his face as he considered it. Hercules punched the needle into the thread again.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "So you-? What do you do?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Wouldn't you like to know," Alex muttered under his breath. A pinkish tint colored Hercules' cheeks. "Why do you ask?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I'm curious as to how it  _ works _ ," Hercules mumbled, attempting to ignore his own embarrassment, and failing. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Fair, but I don't speak about it. If you wish to know more you'll simply have to act on your interests." Alex shrugged, got up, and left the tent smirking as he heard Hercules' shaky sigh from inside the canvas of their tent. He did not want another affair, or another lover, but if he had to pick one, Hercules would be at the top of the list.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Perhaps that was the reason why he didn't pick one. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Mr. Hamilton, the marquis has been looking for you," a man around his age told him as he passed, the conflicting feeling of fear of the supposed  _ great  _ Alexander Hamilton, and the casual comfort that came with fighting a war with him.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alex didn't have to ask him which marquis, he already knew. Nodding, he ran off to Lafayette's tent, where he found him shirtless, hunched over his desk running his hands through his hair.  He was beautiful, truly, it was a shame his wife weren't here to view him. Oh, how she must be jealous.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Help me with this?" Lafayette asked, clearly distressed, not taking notice to Alex's very  _ pointed  _ staring. Alex walked up behind him and kissed his forehead. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Of course." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ As the night dwindled down to Alexander and Lafayette discussing plans for their next attack, Alex forgot about the conversation with Hercules, and therefore never took the time to realize the very real impact it had on the other man _ .    
  
He marked the tally sheet with a shaky hand. Eight hundred eighty-five days here after he died, two hundred seventeen in this house alone. He looked at the paper and quietly recited his memory, proud of himself.   
  
Rushing down the stairs, trying and failing to tie his hair up the fraying ribbon he had. Jane whistled as he opened the door the basement, calling out something flirtatious that, with all his power, Alexander tried  _ not  _ to hear.    
  
Washington stood with a worried expression as he looked at Hercules. His eyebrows knit together as he focused, becoming more upset at the sight of him as Alex got closer to the back room where he was, away from the stash of blood currently cloaked so nobody could sense it was even there. Hercules writhed in the chains that fastened him to the wall. The fight in him wore away as the adrenaline high did, his crash approaching steadfast toward him.    
  
"Alex, you're here," Washington said, gesturing him to come closer. Hercules looked up at the sound of his name, tried to repeat it but all that came out was a rasping groan.    
  
"Why can't he speak?" Alex asked, kneeling down and taking Hercules' face in his hands. He leaned into it, grumbling low in his throat at the small kindness and struggling against the chains. He was still in his clothes from the night before, stiff from dried blood. Alex would have to get him new ones, and even then how would he change into them.   
  
"He spent all of last night screaming," Washington explained. "The basement has a silencing charm on it, so nobody heard, but I've been here for hours. He doesn't, doesn't know what he is, or what he did. He doesn't remember anything after the war."    
  
"So, he knows me?" Alex frowned up at Hercules, running a gentle hand through his short hair. Hercules nodded, offering a small grin, tugging on the cuffs around his wrists. Alex wanted to let him go, to pull the chains out himself and take Hercules out of here. He wouldn't be able to break the spell keeping them all inside, but he didn't care, he would try to break it regardless. Hercules was his best friend, to see this happen to him was painful.   
  
"Yes. He remembers you and Mrs. Mulligan the most out of anybody. He knows details of Laurens and Lafayette, of me, but not a lot. I thought you being here might help-"   
  
"Spark his humanity," Alex finished for him. "I don't want him to be chained up like this."   
  
"He has to be. I don't know what he'll do if we let him go."    
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"When you got here, you'd already worn off your bloodlust and were in a sort of standby state. Him, he hasn't worn off his. You had the time in the makeshift cell Lafayette made, and then the trip back, and that was after twenty-three people. He killed two hundred. If we let him go he might want to kill more. He's been screaming all night for it, he only answered my questions about his memory loss because I told him we would free him if he did."    
  
Hercules, it turned out, was the  _ other  _ kind of bloodlust, the kind Alexander wasn't. While Alex fed uncontrollably and then calmed down, Hercules fed and  _ couldn't _ calm down. The taste of blood gave them both an unbelievable high, it's just how they dealt with the crash that differed. Where Alex would calm down, Hercules would get thirstier, would do what Alexander felt he  _ wanted  _ to, and drink from an unlimited number of people without end, without satisfaction.    
  
Day eight hundred ninety-two, Hercules had been here for a week.    
  
Alex spent as much time as he could with him, trying to distract him from the bloodlust in a way he wished he'd had when he went through it. A familiar company, talking about nothing and everything all at once, so much they weren't saying in the many things they did. The gentle passing of an eternity as they sat in silence in between words, content to be with one another without the demand of a revolution.    
  
"I'm so  _ thirsty _ ," Hercules complained, leaning his head on Alex's on his shoulder. Him and his clothes were cleaned, a terrifying task that included a spell to paralyze him and the screaming that followed the delayed reaction of being soaked in cold water and then smothered with clothes that were uncomfortable against wet skin.    
  
"You know you can't," Alex mumbled back. He yawned and closed his journal, a thing he'd started in the week since Hercules got here. He spent nights trying to put down fond memories from the war he thought Hercules might remember, compiling snippets of their letters that he remembered, including the details of Hercules' life that he told him, his prosperous tailoring business, his children.    
  
"I mean for water, Alexander. I may not be  _ human  _ anymore, but some of my old traits remain." He sat up further against the wall, laughing at how Alex whined when he was forced to sit upright.   
  
"Here." Alex took his glass of water and handed it to Hercules, opening the journal and jotting down something on the page. "Do you remember anything yet? You said you had a dream about the ball last night."   
  
Hercules handed the glass back to him. "Bits and pieces. I remember I was invited by a colleague of mine, as a thank you for making him the suit he wore. I remember a woman dragging me into a room off of the ballroom, I remember her biting me. That's when I blacked out. When I woke up, your witch friend's sister-"   
  
"Elizabeth."   
  
Hercules cleared his throat. Alexander looked away from him. Elizabeth was a heavy name between the two of them, it seemed.    
  
"Right, uh, her. She was chanting at me, doing something to make everything go all fuzzy."   
  
"The ringing thing? It hurts a lot, feels like your ears are about to implode?"   
  
"Yeah, that. Then I ended up here."    
  
"Do you remember the bodies?" Alex asked. He took Hercules' hand in his, trying to miss the way Hercules tensed.    
  
Alex remembered everyone he ever killed. Sixty-one people, he remembered every single one like he knew them personally. Their faces, their clothes, the way they looked at him just before he killed them, how they looked after. He hated remembering, but remembering is what kept him from falling back into old patterns, he had to do it to stay on the track he set for himself.    
  
"No. I try, but all I see are the people, they don't have faces. They're all reaching towards me, trying to get their hands on me and pull me down with them, but I just stand there. I don't fall or sink into them, I just stand still and wait for them knock me down, but they never do."   
  
"That sounds terrible, I'm sorry."    
  
"It's alright. You help me with it, by being here."    
  
Alex grinned as Hercules squeezed his hand, but he felt the sudden urge to pull away.    
  
_ "I think I love you," Hercules whispered, holding Alex's hand loosely in his, grazing his thumb over his knuckles. Alex was half asleep next to him, head rested on his shoulder. I _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It was late, so much so that the sun had sunk under the horizon and the sun peeked over the other side of the sky, shining through the fabric of their tent and painting it pink. Alex nuzzled into the solid muscle of Hercules' arm, trying to fall asleep for the first time in four days. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Hmm?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I think I love you," he repeated, looking away. "I know you have Mrs. Hamilton and John and Lafayette, but I just," he sighed, "had to get that off of my chest. I'm sorry."  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alex took his hand away from Hercules'. "I don't know what to say." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I know. Who would?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I'm sorry." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Don't be. I have a wife at home still, and I love her, too. I will not be alone because of this, Alex, you won't have to worry." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I know." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Hercules started to stand up to go to bed, but Alex stopped him.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Stay with me? In my bed, just for tonight. It's freezing out there, and these tents don't do much to keep out the cold." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He nodded best he could, tears shining in his eyes. "Alright." _ _   
_ _   
_ "I'm glad," Alex said, knocking their shoulders together, both of them grinning. Hercules stared down at him, silent.   
  
Alex knew how important it was for him to remember things, that it was part of his recovery that he was still going through, but as Hercules turned to him and pressed their lips together soft enough that Alexander barely even felt it in the first place, he really wished he could forget, just once.    
  
"Hercules…" Alex breathed, fingers gripping the top of his journal.    
  
"I'm sorry."    
  
All of a sudden they were in their twenties again, and the laughter of soldiers as they stumbled tiredly to their own tents surrounded them. They sat together on a dirt floor and sunrise was coming and Alex felt his own heart shatter, could hear Hercules' pounding in his chest. All of a sudden John screamed next to a river in South Carolina as his body tore open and Lafayette snapped Alex's neck and Angelica's body laid on the floor behind him as he escaped into burning sunlight. His whole past laid out behind him, Hercules sat mortified next to him.   
  
"I can see their faces," he sighed. "All two hundred of their faces, I can  _ see  _ them." He curled up in a ball, chains rattling as he clasped his hands together over his shins.   
  
"Hercules, I-"   
  
"Leave." His whole body shook. "Please."   
  
"I don't think it's good for you to be alone right now, love."    
  
Hercules flinched at the name.  _ "Leave!"  _   
  
Alex took his seat at the dinner table once he was upstairs, smiling as everyone welcomed him into the conversation.    
  
"Hercules is remembering," Alex told Washington, who nodded and stood up, not bothering to excuse himself before going downstairs.    
  
Dinner finished late, all of them catching Alex up on what he missed while he was with Hercules, about how they're changing the routine around the house so Elizabeth dries the dishes now while he cleans them. Alex nodded as they cleared the table, then set to washing while Elizabeth stood next to him, the rest of the house clearing out of the room to do their own things as the evening advanced.    
  
"Shouldn't you go get your allowance first?" Elizabeth suggested, setting plates in the basin to be cleaned. "Just to get it out of the way before we clean all of these dishes?"   
  
"Right."    
  
Alex walked down the steps to the basement, the smell of blood already filling his senses. He stopped, eyes wide as he saw the mess in front of him.    
  
The floor was soaked in it, the gravel floor mixing with the dark red and pooling in where it dipped. The vials of blood were broken open and emptied, corks in a pile on the ground, shattered glass everywhere.    
  
Alex gasped when he saw Washington in the center of the room, eyes closed, arm lying limp beside him in an attempt to reach out to whatever got him. His neck was torn, ripped open, his throat bitten away to reveal his spine behind it. There was a hole in his chest where his heart should be, his heart that laid in pieces next to him, also bitten into.    
  
He stepped through the blood, peering around to look at Hercules' cell. The chains were ripped from the wall, the door thrown off its hinges. Hercules wasn't inside of it.    
  
"Shit."    
  
He tried to turn back, but two hands came down on his shoulders. They were wet with blood, red handprints clapped onto his shirt. Alex stopped breathing. Hercules' hands dragged across his shoulders, up his neck, until one covered his mouth and the other rested at the top of his head.    
  
Alexander heard a crack, felt a shot of pain, and then everything went black.    
  
He woke up to the entire house screaming, the heavy footsteps of everyone left alive scrambling for cover.    
  
He stood, clothes soaked, Washington still dead on the floor. Hercules was nowhere to be seen, but Elizabeth was.    
  
A large patch of her hair were missing, bite marks dug deep into her neck. Broken pieces of the shelves surrounded her from where Hercules threw her into it, glass from the vials impaling her, one poking through her throat and out of her open mouth. Her legs hung off the edge, skirt still pristine ivory as her corset soaked with blood.   
  
"No," Alex whimpered, hand covering his mouth. He took her from the shelf and carried her upstairs, managing to weave through two people running and set her on the sofa. Bodies covered the parlor floor, some thrown so hard their bones broke and pushed out of their skin, others simply dropped on the floor. Alex kissed Elizabeth's forehead and ran to find Jane.    
  
He found her in her room, clutching Peter in her arms as he lay dying, cupping her hand with his face. She looked up at him helplessly and whipped the door shut behind him, holding her brother closer as she sobbed, wooden stake gripped in her one hand.    
  
"Jane, I-"   
  
" _ Where's Elizabeth? _ " Jane screamed, shaking.    
  
"Downstairs." He hesitated before telling her, "She's dead."    
  
" _ No _ ," she whispered. Peter looked up at him, trying to speak, but Jane hushed him. "Save your strength."    
  
"I'm so sorry," Alex said, kneeling in front of her. He ran a hand over Peter's forehead, hair clinging to his skin. Hercules bit him, but didn't drain him. His blood covered Jane's hands and dress, the corners of her jaw where Peter held her face.    
  
"D-Don't be. It's not your fault, it's not  _ anybody's  _ fault. This is bloodlust, it's all consuming, I don't even think that man knows what he's doing right now. He could still think he's down in that cell. He could know exactly what he's doing."    
  
"Is there anything I can do?"   
  
"Yes." She handed her brother over to Alex. "Watch over him, keep him safe until he…" She looked away. "People are escaping into the woods, which means they can  _ leave _ . If your friend figures this out, who knows where he'll go, who he'll hurt. I have to kill him."   
  
Before Alex could say another word, she ran out.    
  
Peter settled in Alex's arms. "I'm going to die."    
  
"Don't say that."   
  
"I am, though. Hercules already stole too much from me, not just my blood but my  _ sister _ , and now I'm going to die and be with her again. It's okay," he told him. "She always got so scared in new places, so this is probably for the better."    
  
Alex couldn't answer. He held Peter closer to him, let the boy curl up on his lap and fall asleep, his even breathing becoming weaker until it stopped altogether. He freed Alex's shirt from his grip, hand dropping to his own lap, lifeless. Alex cried, leaning his head on Peter's as he held him, rocking his body as one would a child.    
  
Leaving Peter on Jane's bed, Alex opened the bedroom door and glanced outside. The house was silent, blood everywhere, bodies speared on the lamps mounted on the wall, draped over each other on the floor. People littered the staircase as Alex tip toed around them, searching for Jane.   
  
She wasn't dead, at least not in the house. Alex checked everywhere, the parlor, the kitchen, the dining room, every bedroom, the basement.    
  
"Jane!" Alex called out the front door, leaning as far as he could out of it until he tripped and fell on the porch, hitting against the hardwood. The spell was broken, he could  _ leave _ .    
  
He ventured further into the forest until he found her, sitting on top of Hercules' stomach, shuddering as she held the stake in his chest. She was gasping for breath as she ripped the stake out from his body and plunged it back in, over and over as she screamed.    
  
"You killed my family! Everyone I have left and you-!"    
  
"Jane!" He ran to her, taking the stake and setting it down next to Hercules' body. He couldn't look at him.    
  
"He, he-"   
  
"I know, I know he did. It's going to be okay, I promise, you'll be okay," he tried to console her. She pressed her face into his chest and let him rock her like he did with Peter, until she stopped crying and let the sounds of the world around them sink into their bones.    
  
Alex woke up the next morning alone, Jane missing. He ran back inside to find Peter and Elizabeth's bodies missing, along with Washington's gone from the basement. She left a note on his desk, glimmering in enchanted ink.    
  
_ Dear Alexander,  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I am dearly sorry to have left you as suddenly as I did, but I could not stay anywhere near this house knowing what has happened here. Hercules is dead, I took him with me, along with my dear siblings and Washington. I will return Washington to Martha, and I will have burned Hercules' body by the time you wake.  My siblings will be buried, and you will most likely never see me again, I am so sorry. Thank you for the friendship you have offered me in the past months, I will treasure it for as long as I live.  _ _   
_

_ Yours, Jane _

Alex drew the final tally mark for this place on his paper, folding all of the pages and shoving them, a quill, and an inkpot into a rucksack. He took the clothes given to him in his time here and put them in with the other things, tying it closed and leaving the house, leaving it to be rediscovered by people who had not lived through the horror, who did not see the people and the hearts behind the corpses.    
  
He sighed, walking down the path from the house he'd learned to call home, and from the people he learned to call a family, out into the unknown. An infinite amount of possibilities stretching out in front of him.    
  
Quietly, to himself, he began, "It's been eight hundred and ninety-three days since  Angelica, my sister-in-law, brought me back to life…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho I can't remember one damn detail from this

**Author's Note:**

> HA IDK WHAT THIS IS I PROMISE IT HAS A PLOT I JUST NEED TO GET TO IT


End file.
